Àkòdì Òrìṣà artists
Àkòdì Òrìṣà artists painting the outside fence at Ile Ife, Nigeria.
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Citruses
Don’t pick an orange
for its enormous size.
The fatness of the citrus
is not a sign of its sweetness.
I’ve seen large oranges
that are firm and juiceless
And I’ve eaten tiny ones
so sweet and sumptuous
My Dear Child
My Dear Child
Before you were born—
if you raised your binoculars,
if you could peep
through the keyhole of life
Would you open the door
and walk right through?
Or would you run back
Captive No More (III)
Captive No More (III)
7.
Music is the language of tragedy,
and dance, the vocabulary of trauma.
Silence, the death of feelings,
marks the beginning of madness.
After my great grandmother in vain
yelled the name of her son, Akin,
several times, and got no response,
she stepped outside and scanned
where he was playing,
and yelled his name again,
when she did not see him there
her stomach sank
because down in the pit of her womb
she knew he was gone.
A gigantic library has erupted in flames.
A gigantic library has erupted in flames.
There was no digital archive.
Ọ̀SẸ́ Ọ̀YẸ̀KÚ
I
Request:
Now that Ibadan
is under fire,
is all lost?
What does Ifa say?
Response:
Ifá responds with Ọ̀sé Ọ̀yẹ̀ku.
In Ọ̀sẹ́ Ọ̀yẹ̀kú, Ifá traces the same passage
My gallery space
My gallery space, Austin, TX.