Rose of Jericho
I am waiting for water;
do not blame my Father though he made me
a curling spine of dried roots.
In a home not built for foliage
he did his fatherly duty to pass on
only what is necessary to survive.
The night I thought I became a man
he handed me a drink of warning:
a closed hand holds no water.
Since then I have broken my skin
into soil good for worms,
good for willow trees.
Hardened my bones into a holding container
to become the bucket my grandmother
would put outside to collect rain.
I am a desert fist waiting for water;
do not blame my father.
He was not the stretch of coast
that held the first break of water,
my mother spilling into labour
as the nurses shout germinate, germinate!
Caleb Femi was the Young People’s Laureate for London (2016-2018) and is an English Literature teacher. Caleb is featured in the Dazed 100 list of the next generation shaping youth culture. He has been commissioned by the Tate Modern, The Royal Society for Literature, St Paul’s Cathedral, the BBC and the Guardian. http://www.calebfemi.com/