Broken Flower – Poetry

I remember those nights when the skies
Would ring out with echoes of sobbing
The gelid moon, enough to illuminate the night
Its stygian features concealing the chaos
More screams and the moon hid behind the dusky clouds
Leaving behind velvet void.

The hooting owl accompanied the wailing maidens as
Their external genital parts where being cut off
By the circumciser.
She loomed over them with a blade
While three other women held the pleading child down.
The cubicle reeked of dry gin and stale blood
Coupled with the stench of death.

“A woman must not be promiscuous.
This will ensure that you don’t get the sinful urge.”
This was the verse recited to each and every one of the young women.
And on into the night, the cutting and snipping would go.

Until I broke the norm.
I fought for my sisters’ freedom when
Mama was taking them to the circumciser.

Now outcast from the community,
I stand,
Determined to keep fighting.
For those uncut and those yet to be born.
They will never know what goes on inside those walls.
Nor taste the cold steel of the blade.