poethree:the fatherhood poems:"to my daughter: esther."

“To my daughter: Esther.”
Light encircles the smallest piece of the universe
Something is torn
A certain tear in the fabric of eternal space
Someone plays an old mandolin in the background
Some old john Mayer song called “say”
And the stars tell the tale
No space on earth for a forlorn look
The stars say: “behold, Esther is born”

I hold her in uncertain arms
I look at her as vulnerable as she will ever be
And I dare any man to hurt her
To make her eyes like the sea
To make a murderer of me
She is one day old

She struggles to crawl through red carpets
The dust makes her sneeze
I am typing at some ancient book
I hear her cry and shout for her mother
“I am making the bacon” I say
And Esther gives me an icy look
That tells me work is no excuse
She is nine months old

I try to put on her evening shirt
She laughs at my incompetence
I look at her eyes like an ocean
I am proud of her little victories
Her non-nose picking, non-bed wetting, her grin as wide as a beam of sunlight
She adjusts her shirt and smiles
“Incompetent men” she says, just like her mother
She is three years old

She is going shopping with her mother
I am not allowed to come
Why?
I ask, I beg, I plead
My women are going off to sea
Without, without me
So I wait till the older one is next to me in bed
And I demand an answer
“A bra.” is what I hear
Oh God!
And now, there will be boys
Lustful little devils
Like me
Damn!
Esther is twelve years old

“I love him” she says, defiant and stubborn
“We are Nigerians. That is no way to talk to me. Tell me you want to marry and he is a man of character who will not irritate me.”
“Pop, the west has won. We are all Americans now.”
I should have thought her some Hausa
Or some......... (Her mother’s language)
“Okay I will meet him”
I had high hopes for her
A nunnery, eternal virginity
I am now an accomplice in her treason
Against my dreams of innocence
Or the false idea of what innocence is
I should know better
She knows better
She is twenty-one years old

I read her poetry with the side of my heart
My eyes are glued to words from her soul
Some of it is harsh on me
I see my failures through her eyes
But there is more
In her heart is the river of eternal silver
And I am only an instrument, a prop, a means to the end
Of the making of her and all her beauty
Too rich for words is she
My daughter of the salt, light and the open sea
Her mother’s eyes, her father’s weird walk, and the ear to talk to God
She is the saviour of the nation of my heart

Light encircles the smallest piece of the universe
Something is torn
A certain tear in the fabric of eternal space
Someone plays an old mandolin in the background
Some old john Mayer song called “say”
And the stars tell the tale
No space on earth for a forlorn look
The stars say: “behold, Esther is born”

And she is of the eternal age.