Queen of Seventy

Two harmatans have passed since I last wore a smile. The fluids that flow through the portal of my façade are now what waters the soil I work white and black to grow. I’ve grown thick but not so much to harden the flesh that beats beneath my breasts where was once castle to a princess now at large in the vast greenery.

Days turn to night as swift as a groom collects his bride with my eyes lit as a candle in the citadel of Old Town. The sun consoles me with light but how can I spend the night without my lantern in the sky? She is now a satellite in a hood-wearing hamlet.

I’ve searched the seas and swam rivers for a sight that may compare to she only to sit blank on bank of hopelessness. Mermaids are maids in my maiden’s place. For a chance to hold her gaze again I’ll walk on thorns barefoot.

I would store my breaths in cans of gas to ransom her for I have no use for air that carries not her scent. She’s of me and I of her as the sides of a fresh Kola broken to herald the birth of a new-born babe.

Tonight I walk the path of my ancestors to where my lover’s abductors have taken her. I desire not to live in a world where greed drives man into lust that breaks bonds and cast children to the prison of orphanage.

Adorned in regalia of white, placed deep below brown, I will wear a smile for my watch has just begun. The flow in portal of my façade have ceased as they have a last sighted the queen of my seventy.