Punching Bag Poem by Ugbo Caleb

Last night
I saw letters in the tears of my mother
But she wrote them in creoles known by the gods.
I asked why they flow upward when her cheeks eagerly wait to fetch each droplet
I asked to see the flames in her eyes which burns to warm our dark night
But silence in her breath echoes like prayers from the walls of a cathedral

The scars on her lips led me to rainbows sprawling on her face, yet she lit a smile so bright that reveals a thousand bruise under her bed.
With eyes clothed in crimson red, and balls smeared with fright lodged behind the curtains
She said, "Son, make not your wife a punching bag! "