One of the nurses was surprised to see me.
You’re walking around?
God Bless you!

Sat with my son in the rocking chair.
Caressed his skin, his fists, his feet.
Searched for,
and found, me,
in the curve of his eyes.

His pale skin had undertones of yellow,
like the inside of a chestnut.
Surveyed the beds of his fingernails,
to guess how brown he would become–
a dark cashew.

Could not afford the naming ceremony
with family and friends I wanted.
In that rocking chair,
in the crook of my left arm,
with no one paying us attention,
I whispered his name in his right ear three times:

Kwabena: Son born on a Tuesday
Khari: kingly
Ngozi: blessing

Knowing his first name would be mangled by many tongues,
I chose his second name to be first on the birth certificate.

Sang him Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds”
until he fell asleep.

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