Out Poem by Adeosun Olamide

We returned with the sun, into our places,
She sat in her peace waiting, as she as,
Keeping her legs to be reached,
I removed the stockings to wash her feet,
She held my arms and touched my face,
I held hers and through the wrinkles,
Felt the softness and warmth she was,
Was all, left,
Of best, of her, broken into pieces
And lost in her begottens

I looked the wall where she yet blossomed
At her smile, her lips, there, alive in the portrait,
Sometimes I touch the lips, that touches mine,
And touches mine in the darkness or in my dreams,
And sometimes I have seen the eye follows me,
And in mine

The water does not through the wrinkles
It does as though on oil, on the folds,
I thought she shivered, as I wiped her,
But she wanted the door open,
And the windows and curtains too,

She sat, staring at the sky or at the stars,
Or at heaven or at nothing, for she didn't see much,
But whatever it was, it absorbed her from my gaze,
I sat too, looking, at her, or perhaps at what she saw,
Or perhaps at the fly, that settled on her necklace, her nose,
And then crawled through the wrinkles, into her nostril,
I made no reach for it though her eye blinked,
And stopped blinking,
I watched as the fly stayed on her lashes,

The fly stared at me and came to my palm,
It gently stayed, and reflected a soul,
I felt the softness it was as though a feather,
But then it flew and flew to her plants,
And towards heaven or the fog

Now the breeze made cold,
That I waited her gesture to shut it out,
But there she sat at peace,
Staring out, into the sky or nothing.