Maria Otuaga | Poetry

Before. During. After.

We do not always know what to expect 

with the earth. Future laced with uncertainty.

Destination unknown.

Blue-green sky stretching as far as the eye can see.

Golden sunset: both a blessing & curse to the eye.

I once watched the cold sun hide between

white clouds & wondered if the earth

was teaching me something about deception

or survival.

Chilly morning, the hilltops collect dews as receipts.

The air crisp & clean, like something

walked through its furnace— thatched roofs,

vibrant orange orchards where the lizards nested.

The red soil aged as clay Nana washed

Mami with. We may not know what beauty May

beholds; the barbados in bloom

or the fuchsia in an array of star-mesmerised clouds.

Felled-trees disheartened to the stomp.

Branches orphaned too early.

Work undone. Jaws sunken. I see the jarring visibility

of ribs & splayed tendons of forests hurting.