Abyssinica Apikalia - A Sighting

A wild garden, my curls matured into kinks by a villa

in Addis where Jacarandas guffawed. Always,

sunbirds tussled to drink the nectar from the violet

petals and my coiled flowerets so I plucked

out a feather from each in exchange. It’s only fair

that way.

 

Meanwhile, my mind kicked and lullabied, a contest

with the dancing incense commenced since

then. Lemony evergreen hints left acid holes

in burgundy curtains while Crayolas and Faber-Castells

etched the scents on off-white walls. What a time

it was.

 

It’s true, a strong woman and gentle man gardened

my spine, planted my spleen, and rooted my eyelashes

but I chose a total of five parents when I sprouted—

berbere, tibeb and honey-wine. So, amid their synthesis

to make my bits, their cries were drumming,

Abyssinica, Abyssinica!