First Cry

One day my daughter will remember,
as I did when she was born, a long-buried song
that emerges in snippets, swaddled in memory
                                                if you ask me
I could write a book…
                                                nkɛ bo baa ya
nkɛ bo baa ya da daa…
                                                then a melody tooshe has forgotten the words for, but flowers still
beneath her lips.

                        A baby cries, its mouth
a dark, dried fruit, and from somewhere
your entire inheritance of comfort comes
tumbling forth: heartbeat, caress, the first
words that stilled the waters
            when you entered the world:
                                                           kaa fo.