Glowing under the Knife
by Adewuyi Aremu Ayodeji
A long year passed – and two,
No cry of a baby still
Her fears began to grow
The cultural verdict is foul and daring:
Men are saint-like
All fault lies with women.
Medical proof arbitrarily displaced
By a more empowered spiritual diagnosis
Did the scan ever reveal a hex?
As I watched her shrink and shrink
All the flesh accumulated in her bloated belly
My fears grew in bounds
The hospital was like a cell –
Boring and nauseating,
Unlike a party house full of eatables and drinkables.
Tests were draining the purse,
Then she was booked for the knife
Another round of unshared fears!
To be under the knife?
Perhaps our herbs could work
Perhaps the cure was in the spiritual
But in-between this lurk in a therapy maze
COVID-19 staged a tragic relief
The waiting – an odd commingling of felicity and anxiety.
January 2021 heralded new hopes:
She mellowed and glowed under the knife.
The bloated belly is now a joke in all family chatting.