AGWU

Agwu means ‘colour’ in a language that does not know I’m real

In a home that does not think I exist.

It’s green, white, and mangled greens,

The green- white insignia means,

that- I love you when you’re muted.

Brown like the skin that you grew in,

Pitch-black like the closet you stood in.

I can wrap your name fluidly around my tongue

a huru m gi n’anya (I love you)

But not that love.

You say that you will see me,

But not in that hue,

Home is not that colour,

Home is not you.

But the earth that lines the floor of my village is a red

that turns orange when the sun sets,

and there’s yellow in the teeth of the smile that spreads to hold me without hands.

Trees line the path to my house in a glorious green

like the blue of the stream - that’s a stone throw away from my sanctuary.

Our favourite colour was purple,

You were indigo,

I was violet,

We shared a favourite colour in a time without violence.

And now you say, that you spell colour without the you

But our home has always had pigmentation

M bu egwuregwu (I am a rainbow).