I Remember Her

I remember her clearly,
her eyes full moons
that waxed with excitement
whenever she spoke.

I remember her smile:
molars on display
as her cheeks hugged
eyes that shone.

I remember her laugh:
a sprinkling of liquid glitter
that cracked a smile even
on concrete faces.

I remember her hands;
their dance when she spoke,
an animation of twirls
graceful and fierce.

I remember her clearly,
her crown of resilience
a shield for days
that could snap her back.

I remember that girl,
now a mere shadow
and songs of days gone by
a howl in the wind.

© LaYinka Sanni, May 2015


I never saw her cry,
maybe she didn’t know how.
Always dry-eyed
waiting for the next blow.

I never heard her cry,
she probably didn’t know how.
Her matriarch to be mirrored
unmoved by each blow.

I’d teach her how to cry,
but I have no idea how.
Without crumbling her fortress
rebuilt with each blow.

If only she’d learn to cry,
let them rain on her now.
Her dry eyes will soften
with the knock of each blow.

© LaYinka Sanni, May 2015


It’s been bubbling for weeks
in my tight chest
my knotted stomach
and shaky fingers
that run through your beard
soft and coarse.
I look at my palms
covered with lines
my tongue tied with more
that fail to let loose.
I see them. Holding hands
intertwined with hope
glistening with prayers
bound by nothing but love.
And I try to remember
when I last told you
as I held you
that you mean more than
I’d ever imagined
that I love you more than
my heart can bear
that I don’t know how
she’s holding it together
with him gone
while you’re here
still here
for us
with us.
As I falter
trying to make myself
clear, I know
I don’t thank Him enough
that you’re here.

© LaYinka Sanni, April 2015.