corn is ancient currency
a poem that pretends not to be one
in the past, turning b/ack would not have been an option. the only direction i would have known to follow was the one that led outside, far away from sight, into an open field. i would have paved my way through the corn field, right outside the church my parents had tried to build over many years, astonished by how sturdy the stems are. how tall the corn grows. how much sweetness is hidden under so much sturdiness. how the leaves that wrap around the corn are more like protective warriors and less like soft pillows. what does it take to grow? i found olodumare in those corn fields. what secrets did the corn keep to be so shielded? what had happened to it?
i love corn. i am corn. corn reminds me of the bonfires with my family at the churchyard back then. the church was built on industrial not residential grounds, so it was allowed. still, we lived there in spirit. almost died there too. i liked my corn boiled, rather than roasted, but i would have my bite either way. eating corn was like a discovery channel for my too-little-too-curious mouth that didn’t yet know how to do anything other than ask corn-y questions and interrupt elders. not much has changed. i’m too corn-y for my own good, which is why i share and shield so much of myself. corn needs to be planted close to each other. just close enough. have you ever seen a lonely corntree? why do you think corn has so many babies?
i have to admit i’m not a biologist. it’s my mother that was a landscape planner and knew how to plant corn like others do photography.
did you know that ancient corn was not as sweet? it didn’t need to be.
a lot has changed.
i’m writing all of this to say, i’m no longer running away. i went b/ack to that class with that professor i know would be easy to demonize but that’s not really my style and i sat in the b/ack too. b/ack. b/ack. b/ack. b/ack. b/ack row with a front view. i stared into his eyes as he avoidantly stared into mine. i dared to smile.
i’m still here.
i met my fellow corn in the hallway. one ran after me. it was a déjà-vu.
i’m autistic. oh, you too? the professor had called her courageous in front of the class. i agree. he got a courageous one. corn tends to be very brave. he has to accept that he is corn-ered. out-corn-ered, even. i don’t feel scared to turn b/ack anymore. i’m free. i know my purpose is my field study. learning. leaving. returning. all of it.
corn is powerful. corn is spirit. corn is ancient currency.
i’m paying myself b/ack with corn, next time.
love,
imọlẹ
wanna join me?
& let’s redistribute, okay?
Reading this made me happy. Have a wonderful day!