Requiem For A Mother-In-Law Gone Too Soon – Part 8

One of our
clanswomen,
the most
enlightened one
whose mother’s uncle
once lived
at Akyem-Asiakwa,
blew up
a giant
life-size
portrait
of you
the other day
and got me
weeping all day
once more…
you were in
one of your
Sunday best,
a white
cotton-print
like the one
you had on
the day I had
that snow-white
dream in which
three of us
were on our way
back to where
it all began,
where the Great One
molded us
out of clay
and breathed life
and daylight
into us and
all that surrounded
us…
in that portrait
you were in one
of your Sunday
best,
a white
cotton-print
with a whorl
of flowers
or maybe
one of those
sacred scripts
from our sages
of yore;
I suspect
it was
the same
majestic print
you had on
when we first met
at the gate
to your
mother’s house
which was also
your house
and I guess,
in retrospect,
the gate
to your heart
and your soul –
Maafio,
I am looking
at you smile
and cry to me
at once,
crying to me
with teardrops
on both sides
of your cheeks
like the last time
we spoke
from your hospital
bed which was
really
the butcher’s
block
upon which
you were slain…
I am looking
into your eyes
in this portrait
our clanswoman
blow up
exactly
like your
size,
you are saying
quite a lot
to me
in your
trademark
calm and
quiet way;
I hear every
single word
of your speech
though I cannot
make out
the meanings
of the same;
I guess
it is hardly
about anything
at all,
rather,
it is all about
the torrential
outpouring
of one soul
to another,
the transcendent
peace and
quiet
within…
there is absolutely
no time
to be angry
sorrowful
or sad,
there is only
just
time enough
to think and
reflect,
make the best
of whatever
fate and
fortune
provide;
a time
to recall
those rare
memorable
moments
of love
and kinship
and oneness,
those
memorable
moments
we laughed
so hard
our teardrops
began to well up
into streams
of dreams
which were merely
the extension
of the soon
to be which
you probably
already
knew but
I had yet
to learn
the most painful
way;
streams
and dreams
of places
where only those
who have crossed
over from
these parts
into the clouds
can grasp…
I am staring
deep into
your pensive
eyes and
wondering
what if
you were only
playing possum
to see who
your true
loved ones
were –
11/11/18

Author: Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr.

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