Come Cook Mother Poem by Pat Ashinze

COME COOK, MOTHER - A folkloric narrative

Come cook for us, Oh Mother
We have filled up the heathen clay drum
With the waters from the mountain spring
We have fetched the best of waterless woods
From the vast forests of the seven hills

Oh Mama, use the fruition of our bounty and
Let the fire burn redder and deeper into
The buttock of the fat earthenware pot
Let the edge of the wooden knife cut up the greens
And let the friction of the grinder mash up the lot

Oh Mother of mothers, don't just call us men
Channel our youthful zest and make us a savoury meal
Our sturdy shoulders shall pilot the rhythmic poundings
Our muscles shall power the fallings of the mahogany pestles
Into the widened course of the yam-drunk mortar

Oh sweet Mama, we long for your generous cooking
The fire burns and crackles with fervid momentum
Let the meaty soup sizzle wild in salt and seasonings
Let the hot peppered palm oil baptize the citizens
Of the colloid stew with their ravishing sweetness;

Stir the contents Mother! Round and round,
Let the bitter-leaf dive amply into the melon crush
Stir Mama! Stir Affable Mother! !
The aroma pierces deep into the canals of our nose
We cannot wait any longer; unbearable, is our appetite

Hasten up, Oh Great Mamamia
The table is set with voracious eyes and watery mouths
Waiting to fester and feed upon your tasty meal
Hasten Mother! The moon is shining bright
In the clouds and the night is getting darker upon us!

Pat Ashinze
August 2016