D.M. Aderibigbe














Learning My History
after Natasha Trethewey







Learning My History
after Natasha Trethewey







At twelve, one
of the days outside
my skin, you drove
me through the streets of your regrets
in your new husband's Volkswagen,
pointing left and right like a     tree’s
swaying branch, as dust covered
your mistakes. You drove
on, arrived at the house
you fell in love with the history
That is now mine. Alighting
from the car,
I followed you
like a good name, mother. Mother,
on the soil where he planted
me on your lips,
I watched the sun slice
you into two, your heart.












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