Mother dips me in water for the second time.
Ana m alọta n’ụlọ. Ana m alọ ịnara aha m n’eziokwu.
My teeth bob up like a hunger-scenting fish.
Onyx skin on my nape has not learned ripening
Or the weight of the name I am called:
Camwood hauled to the creeks.
For the third time, I tumble into the ocean,
Fish filtering the sepia mud in rain.
Mmiri m mụtara, mmiri ka m ga-alaghachi n’aka ya
The green plankton feels tangled in my throat,
Among the reefs and the rock-teeth scraping skin
At my navel, a running creek to my ancestors' amnion.
On the riverbank the dibia divines my journeys
Between the seashells and the rock that cuts me
From the Earth's uterus. It's the fourth day and night.
Abụ m nwa osimiri, ọbara ya na-asọba n’ime anyị niile
Blood continues to flow like Ọyị
The rivered blood runs like Ọyị.