Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poet Narrative

Fake Fatherhood

I was an orphan, 
later taken in by my mother’s brother— 
the only uncle who agreed that I could live with him.
 
But he was abusive, an emotional robber. He broke the seal of my womanhood when I was just thirteen.
 
Long story short— 
he called me one day and showed me a man. 
“This is your new husband,” he quipped. 
No ceremony. No wedding.
 
Later, I discovered 
the man was forty-eight, 
twice previously married, 
but childless.
 
And if not for the experience with my uncle, 
I wouldn’t have understood 
his blankness beneath the sheet.
 
But he was a good man— 
he gave me a joy I had only imagined.
 
He told why he chose me— 
not for my beauty, 
nor the shape that made men turn once, twice, again, and again—
 
but for what my body could give him: children—
to silence those who mocked his childlessness.
 
But not his own—
from another man 
that could kick better beneath the sheet.
 
It took me a while 
to find an innocent victim.
 
He kicked well— 
and within three months, 
my belly was well-rounded.
 
My husband soared— 
as if lifted to the top of the world.
 
And nine months later, 
a baby boy bounced on our bed— 
to kick the shame of childlessness out.

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