Forgive me, mother, i won't ask for another baby
By
Olobo Ejile
I grew an innocent admiration for new babies,
I cherish the rhythm of their cooing sounds,
I cherish their young & tender eyes,
eyes that struggle to behold mild light.
I cherish the scent of dusting
powder rubbed on their soft & delicate skin,
I cherish the alcoholic fragrance of methylated
spirit that caresses the stump of their healing navels,
I cherish the edible gifts neighbours
offer to new mothers.
But after Iye went into labour,
returning with a withered body—
too dispirited to celebrate her “safe delivery,”
I became afraid that my prayers
were working against me.
Since she returned, too much blood,
were the words that flew around
the silent, gloomy corridors of our house.
Whenever these words slowly fell from
my mother's lips as she whispered to curious friends,
they carry the jagged shape of postpartum trauma.
Wherever I was, I heard our small house, echoing
these words, like a fading baa of a lost sheep.
In my solitude, I muttered prayers:
Lord, if this is what childbearing means,
I do not want another sibling.
Sometimes, I pore my shivering gaze on her body,
examining the relics of childbirth,
the contours of her depression.
I examine her thighs, too afraid of coming closer
to each other as she walks, in these
moments, I render a solemn apology:
Forgive me, mother,
I won't ask for another baby.
Bio: Olobo Ejile, a Nigerian poet, writer, and researcher. He is a member of the Hilltop Creative Arts Foundation, Lagos Chapter; a fellow of the 2025 Idembeka Creative Writing Workshop; a fellow of Global Arts in Medicine Fellowship; longlisted for Wale Okediran Poetry Prize and Octofest Anthologies. His works have appeared or are forthcoming in ANA Review 2024, Fiction Niche, Shallow Tales Review, Artisans Quill, EOPP Anthology 2025, Indy Press, Cọ́n-scìò Magazine, and elsewhere. Connect with him on X @Olobo_Ejile.