Henrietta Ezegbe

Roots in shifting soil,
A quiet strength in the change —
Flourish in the now.
...

Morning begins with small jurisdictions.
Kettle. Window. Heartbeats.
The soft arithmetic of light
entering a room you arranged
...

I stand as the law
of root and waking earth
spring answers to me
...

Spring Answers To Me

Spring does not arrive.
It is permitted.
...

They ask for a summary.
Themes.
Style.
...

Corridors leaned in.
Walls held expectation.
You bent, softened, polished
reflections that were never yours.
...

They whisper "too much."
They murmur "over corrected."

You listen once.
...

She moves through corridors of becoming,
not as a finished shape
but as a question
held in motion,
...

Softness,
bent under pressure.

Fracture expected.
...

They say she carries herself
like she was born to the room.
As though polish
arrived hereditary.
...

They will say
she earned it.

And she did.
...

Loving
like holding breath underwater.

Offering warmth
...

Mom measured things
differently.

Not in accolades.
...

Fluency first felt like freedom.

The correct fork.
The measured confidence.
...

Stay with me here now
Growing without shrinking back
Boundaries held soft
Stewarding my light with care
...

First, the ecstatic joy of meeting
Fire sparks go off, love is in the air!
In tow follows the sad extinguish
O modern dating, just like clockwork.
...

Once upon an enigma
With pearls for teeth, they seem to live to smile
Ever beaming from inside out
With gold for a heart, their aura serenades
...

Pretty sure this happened.
Or maybe not?
Cold night on call
Walking the site pavements alone in the dead of the night
...

Keeper of endings and beginnings,
you move softly through golden light
whispering surrender, renewal
and faith in what the eyes cannot see.
...

Nostalgia is a storyteller,
and she lies beautifully,
softening the edges of moments
that were never as gentle as she claims.
...