I spend Christmas beside my mother's
grave, eardrums, flooded
with the dead's voice. Even as a spirit,
my mother has her pair of bumpy breasts
and shallow vagina.
and sixty-five mornings away, my step-father
struggling to outdo his woman's voice. In Florida,
a woman beaten to death
by her man, because of sex or its death;
how far the flesh goes
to secure its desires.
My mother sat on the couch crying
over her kinds. The shelf wailed, the TV:
women screaming all over America,
clamoring for more ribs.
D.M. Aderibigbe is a proud native of Nigeria. He graduates in 2014 with an undergraduate degree in History and Strategic Studies from the University of Lagos. His poetry appears in Poet Lore, Asheville Poetry Review, Hotel Amerika, RHINO, Grist, B O D Y, Vinyl and elsewhere. He currently lives in Lagos, Nigeria where he is working on his first book of poems titled, My Mothers' Songs and Other Similar Songs I Learnt. He's been nominated for the 2014 Best New Poets Anthology.