Mama said I ate
my husbands.
Seasoned them
with my salty
attitude and
boiled them in
a black pot on
the night of the
waning moon.

She claims that
my saggy beasts
are an attestation
to my disgrace
as a woman
and my mortar
isn’t fit for
pounding groundnuts.

My body is
a fictional tale.
She claims that
I’m not fit
to lay on the ground
that holds the
semen of my
ancestors.
My complaints
under the sun
are equivalent
to the sound of
gushing birds.

Mama said that
I boiled
and drowned
my husbands
in marwa
after the midnight
dance.
My speeches
are a drunk
man’s rants.
And I am not fit
to sit among women
when dawn
descend and the
chiefs play the bul jok.

I am an unmarried woman.
Without a title.
Without a claim.

***

Link to the Italian translation