Mama

My mother likes to constantly remind me that my life would be better if I believed in the christian god. It's just not enough anymore.

Mama

Don’t clasp my skeletal hands

 pull me down

so my knees kiss the ground

and insist, with a voice

choking with maybes and

what-should-have-beens,

“Maame Afriyie, bc Mpay3.

fa wo awor3hwo sh3 no nsa”.

Understand that with age

my world became more complicated

prayers no longer make the world make sense

nor does it hush the sharp abruptness of death

your god is not enough to explain it all

and look,

there’s only a modest hole

where my faith was pried 

and pulled out like a rotting tooth.