Paper Bags as Self-Reflection
Lagos, Nigeria
2023, Senior, Poetry & Spoken Word
& after many lives — you kneel before
vast water as sacrifice, the beach unclean
& humid — you nameless as a newborn
while we waited for the first shriek and it
was your hands tucked in the sand, what
can fingers filled with other people’s debris
not hold with almost utmost perfection?
I live one border away
& I want to watch you everyday
run into self reflection to weave
things that do not want
strangers alive into coloured
paper bags.
The ocean is shattered glass
for those who like themselves best
— contorted
& after many lives — the people do not
know your name but they hold you as silence
never to be given space. what
happens to learning your name in my mother
tongue, holding it as vacant white paper &
homage to ink, what happens to the rhythm
of unsaid words?
What happens to all of us still
stuck beneath your fingernails?
Reflection
A year ago on a relatively silent beach in Cotonou, Benin Republic, I watched a woman pick the the rubbish left over by strangers who visited the beach the evening before. It was early in the morning around sunrise, and she had come with paper bags, tirelessly feeding them with nylons and bottles. I was especially amazed when I learnt she has been doing it for years. She sold food by the beach and had made that an early morning routine. I did not know enough French words to ask for her name. I remembered her throughout the journey back to Nigeria; then again whenever I thought about selflessness.