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April 23, 2017
Poetry

An Ode To Papa – Veralyn Ugian

An Ode To Papa – Veralyn Ugian
April 23, 2017
Poetry




Papa,

My palms are full of rust

They have missed your romance

The lines are confusing

We have lost their foresight

The white spots are back on my fingers

We have lost their interpretation

My hands still shake

Mama calls it convulsions

She said your shadow has left us.
Papa, 

My ears have lost its tenderness

Your whispers, it has missed. 

My eyes have gone to sleep

They are weary of waiting. 

My feet have grown carelessly

They have lost their compass. 
Papa,

My kernel nut shot out last night.

Mama said I should hide it from hungry hunters.

My back aches, the nuts have overgrown their cover.

Papa, my heart yearns earnestly for you.

My body aches to be carried on your soothing thighs.
Papa, 

The last time you came home accompanied by a siren

Mama, said you were resting beneath the orange tree.
Each morning, 

I drop your water, chewing stick and a bowl of ugwu, hoping you wake to eat .
Papa,

When will you wake up and call me Nenyenwa as you tickle me.

When will you carry me on your thigh and sing me 

Ada my Queen

in to my ears.
Papa,

The Orange tree has become my abode.
I wait hoping my little drawings will awaken your heart.
Papa…

I miss you!

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