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30.11.2018 Feature Article

Requiem for a Mother-in-Law Gone Too Soon – Part 10

(For Maame Grace Afua Ofosuah Henaku – 1940-2018)
Requiem for a Mother-in-Law Gone Too Soon – Part 10
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Son-in-law,

tell the doers

I have already

ferried across

the Life-River

to the other side,

where worldly worries

and other mundane cares

are mere haze

in the wistful dreams

of yesteryear –

you may dress me

in the most

gorgeous

and expensive

chiffon

lace

silk or

brocade,

it is all

like water

on the plumes

of a duck

to me;

a godforsaken bride

emasculated

the primal fruit

of my womb,

the blood-clot

I carried

with pain

and anguish

for nine moons,

the blood-knot

I carried

in the very sack

of my womb:

he was my pride

until the woebegone

doer came

my way,

smiling and

growling

like the bitch

I readily sensed

she would soon

become;

then I was banished

and rendered homeless

and made to live

like a hobo

with complete

strangers…

it was not

her fault

at all;

Son-in-Law,

I am glad

you came,

if even

a tad

too late,

battered

by sorrow

and shame

all because

the primal fruit

of my womb

turned his back

on me,

sided

with the impish

princess

of the diamond

diadem…

I have been

burned up

like tinder

encased

in a hard

mahogany wood

carved into

the glorious shape

of a Lamborghini….

Alas,

I am

Dead

I am

Gone;

I am not coming back

this way

anytime

soon;

in fact,

I may never come

this way ever

again;

I have had

enough of your

snorts

and squirts,

enough of your

aspersions

and innuendoes

to last me

three lifetimes

already, doer;

my roots are

deep down

the earth,

whatever is built

of sand

and stone

shall soon crumble

back to dust

and ashes

once more,

just as I am;

nothing means

anything to me

anymore;

I have stacked up

tons of wormwood

only to be buried

under a chunk

of ice…

leave me alone,

spitter of insults

and unspeakable

words of abuse,

leave me alone,

queen-mother of rudeness

and insolence,

you may bury me

in a Mercedes-carved

casket,

I care not

a whit,

I have already crossed

into this light

of unbearable bliss

I wish

I had known

and been told of

beforehand,

so I could have left you

sooner than later

with that cancerous fruit

of my very lifeblood

who looked on

like a pillar-of-salt

while that daughter

of Styx

trampled

and crushed

the bones of

my soul,

the very essence

of my being

and my

dignity,

or whatever

was left

of the same –

Sonny,

why not bury me

in the stark

bloody nudity

whence I came?

I am sick

and tired

of belated guilt,

hypocrisy

dressed up

saintly

like

remorse –

you may

bury me

in a pricey casket

whose cost

is as weighty

as a ton

of gold,

what do I care,

stiff

scrunchy

and dry

like tinder

ready

to be lit

by fireflies –

11/29/18

Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr., Ph.D.
Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr., Ph.D., © 2018

The author has 5393 publications published on Modern Ghana.Column: KwameOkoampaAhoofeJr

Disclaimer: "The views/contents expressed in this article are the sole responsibility of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect those of Modern Ghana. Modern Ghana will not be responsible or liable for any inaccurate or incorrect statements contained in this article."

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