Oteeyho Iro is from the Northern part of Nigeria. She sees poetry as a passage to healing with ears that never get tired of listening to our voices. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Visual Verse, Journal of Expressive writing and Jalada Africa.
TUBANI
welcome to arewa the land of the farmers who nurture the earth's fertility a voyage to the season of shower— where my favorite delicacy dwells let me give you a taste of holy tubani made from the child of earth—corn: freshly scrab & blend into paste—wrap into its own cloak & steam serve with oil and pepper
sit cross-legged, a lotus flower—how my grandmother taught me she said:
that's how you show respect to the ones who planted the seeds and birthed the earth with corns use your naked finger and feel your mouth explode with a magic-hot romance of flavours spicy-pepper, sweet-corn, salty-salt & nutty-oil
warning: if you ain't ready do not join me on this voyage
APOTHEGM
only carry the essential when travelling
an apothegm mama told me over and over again
a mantra
but you see I have this habit of overpacking
& there is a difference between been owned &
been the owner
my habit got a tether on my neck
made me overpack even when I did not want to
even when my knee buckled
even when my spine crooked a serpentine road
my shoulder bent to the left
jelly from the weight—luggage overflowing a mountain,
stained rug, burnt pot, broken pen and trash bin of yesteryears
my mama told me to only carry the essentials when travelling
over & over
I still can't sort my luggage in this journey
but I am learning to let go—to stop hoarding the things
that broke me
& make allowances for forgiveness
that burnt pot, stained rug one at a time
one at a time
A PRAYER OR THE ACT OF MAKING ONE'S SELF FULL
this body is a mantra
a mouth full of prayers—
oh glory be to you
who made the earth steady
underneath my soggy legs
let me fly with the birds
adjust my cornea in the dark
so that I may discern
between my right and left
let hope flow like seedlings from the air
in my lungs—imbibe the qualities of a seed
that thrives even when buried underneath the dirt
take away the pain soften grief with time
quench my thirst
feed my hungry heart
unto myself let me be full
QUITCLAIM
today is the day I forfeit my inheritance
from women
who learned patience as a tongueless
eyeless hollow thing
who swallowed their tongues whole
carrying silence like a badge
scars like accolades
an inheritance passing from generation
to generation to generation
I forfeit
refuse to pay the tax with quiet mouth—
my body an avalanche of suck it all
I fortfeit
let this poem be a quitclaim a scissors
to cut every girl free