Nomenclature

Illustration with black-and-white image detail of Black woman on left and small words on right: "I cannot remember the sight of my village," "I cannot remember the love of my village," and "n'anya"
Gabriela Pesqueira / The Atlantic; NYPL

After Safia Elhillo

Your mother’s mother came from Igboland
though she did not teach your mother her language.
We gave you your name in a language we don’t understand
because gravity is still there
even when we cannot see it in our hands.

I ask your mother’s mother to teach me
some of the words in hopes of tracing
the shadow of someone else’s tongue.

The same word in Igbo, she tells me, may have four different
meanings depending on how your mouth bends around
each syllable. In writing, you cannot observe the difference.

The Igbo word n’anya means “sight”
The Igbo word n’anya means “love”

Your grandmother said,
I cannot remember the sight of my village
orYour grandmother said,
I cannot remember the love of my village

Your grandmother’s heart is          forgetting
or Your grandmother’s heart is          broken

Your grandmother said,
We escaped the war and hid from every person in sight
orYour grandmother said,
We escaped the war and hid from every person in love

Your grandmother was running from danger
or Your grandmother was running from vulnerability

Your grandmother said,
My greatest joy is the sight of my grandchild
or Your grandmother said,
My greatest joy is the love of my grandchild

Your grandmother wants you        present
or Your grandmother wants you        home

Clint Smith is a staff writer at The Atlantic and the author of the new poetry collection Above Ground.