My mother is a twin,
or should I say my mother
is part of a twin.
My grandmother told me
that they used to sing together.
She showed me a picture
of them winning prizes.
What people didin't know
is that they actually
had the same voice, she said,
and together,
they had a haunting texture
that would impress the judges
time after time.
As a child
I remember sleepy nights
in small theatres,
where they'd raise
their voices in chorus,
their afros perfectly circular,
framing their faces like halos.
Their dashiki robes,
like the cloth equivalents
of stained glass windows
of the Cistine chapel,
as they belted out
their folk tune chorus.
When I was a teen
one morning I saw them cooking
an easter weekend brunch.
As they diced and chopped
the smell of fresh thyme
and baking fish
hung in the air like mist,
I heard them start a tune together in key,
without any signals,
not even a look,
their afros now straightened out
into razor sharp bobs,
falling at their cheeks
as thick and fluid as indian ink,
their dashikis abandoned
for batik wraps, folk tunes replaced
by hymns with calypso flavour.
They sang their duet to god in unison
for three hours, till the food
was ready to be served.
I saw them sing again,
together in that room
when it seemed Angela,
my mother's twin,
her face serene
as a newborn baby
lie in bed.
My mother's hair cropped
short and grey with age.
Angela's hair short
through chemo
and grey with age,
holding my mother's hand,
saying she felt no pain
saying she had no regrets
saying goodbye to everyone,
then they sang:
"Then sings my soul my saviour god to thee
How great thy art, how great thy art
Then sings my soul, my saviour god to thee
How great thy art, how"
then she squeezes my mothers hand
stopping her short,
and my mother looks at her
and Angela whispers, shes ready,
and pushes her head back
into her pillow
as if to get comfy for her journey
as she smiled and closed her eyes.
Today this easter morning
my mother starts cooking brunch,
and she's tryiing to keep a tune
past the cracks in her throat,
and smiling through her tears
she stops, she starts again
trying to keep her tune
past the tears, palming them
off her cheeks she stops.
She starts again and I join in
to sing Angela's part.
Voice: Roger Robinson
Piano: Gaspare Di Lieto
Napolipoesia, 2001