The Wailing of Amina Lawal

THE WAILING OF AMINA LAWAL

Pain
can walk, just.
Chains, heavy about my feet,
have me limping and hopping,
oblivious to the inflamed, torn flesh,
the soiled body,
the matted,
lice infested hair,
and unwashed skin
soon marked by earth's scorn.

Fear lives in me
while hope lives in those
who seek to carry out the sentence handed down by a Shari'ah court of my peers. Men who point fingers at the women instead of themselves. I begged him to come forward and tell them he loves me, he will not. I must hide.
Go far away where no one will find me.
If I fail, I will die.

The people will rejoice my passing
and celebrate with my child's magician.
They will wrap my sarcophagus
in garments of anger,
the only reminder of bones
broken by
Love.