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


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