it grows each day

like muscle, nerves, flesh, bone on

foetus,

a renaissance grows

beginning

from the balls of my feet

i wander into fields

where a lone woman

with plain red dress and dust for lipstick

breaks clods &

sows maize

pen-toting, I lunge and

stab at rebel groups

that recruit hungry children

& explode

bottles of red ink

in parliament buildings

of the old regimes

i paint my tongue

with colours of food

cassava, okra, nkenke, yams, tomato

i weep as i consort with

hot peppers

in sex

i writhe my body

in the continent’s shape

inside me, a thousand ideas

grow wild, along with

potato peel, bulbs, petals, etched faces, old car parts and

a cacophony of insect buzzing