Laughter from a Nigerian Mother to a Child Who Is Not Hungry

I have labored all day at this hot stove
And you will eat this dinner that I birthed
I have spent the last of this month’s check
On the good olive oil
That your new Ivy League tongue prefers
You may be vegan this and gluten-free that
But you will eat
This Maggi sweetened the tongue of the man who fathered you
Your grandmother carried this dried fish from Onitsha to customs
You will eat it
I have sliced each onion with my two hands
Blinded myself with tears for you
And you say, you're not hungry?
I laugh, because when this world mangles your name in its mouth
Again
You will come to this table
You once feasted on my placenta
Dried both these breasts
Again, you will eat
I stink of sweat and age and oil and love of you
I did not bring you to America
To watch you fast from this food