Herring Under Sun Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

The sea shore not
only breeds peaked sheets
of rolling glistening sun-lit
flyingbreezes and zephyrs.

Tossed over and hurled on
by waves, but also more
butterscotch shades
of gold bouncing down
from the sun's steady glow.

Sunshine brushes etch
and spray gold and silver
flowers on floating gowns
and bird-tailed shirts

floating on bobbing backs,
strolling and wheeled men
spun by a crave for fish,
but also sea-cutting horizons
breathing out sun's silver,
as women's headgears

carry and wave sparrows
and swallows
in reddish
brown and blue coats
and flowering plants
on gaudy fabric print.

(ii)

At the fishing port
dress and style
sprint faster than hands
sorting out fish
into baskets that hang
down like bouquets

to tower above stacks
of fish, the herring
screaming with silver
from its eyes.

The herring in its bones
over iron grills
screams with more silver
suns from its eyes
under an afternoon's sun,

as roasted herring,
sticking ribs and bones,
flower more than
the florist's bouquets
displayed for customers,

who pick up a few
to thrust off to households
beckoning sun
from the teeth of grinning
lasses and ladies.

And stars from shining eyes
embellished by cheek
dents and deep holes
of dimples flowering
faces with swimming smiles.

(ii)

Ms. Ndive has brought
home an overflowing basket
of fish, but also fished out
Pastor Ndoko with more fish
from the bible.

She has also in her net,
a dose of psalms
and hook-jawed fish to flash
out over the children,

as she wraps herself up
in the sunny glow
of her smile, as silver beads
stream down beaming
hot cheeks pulling in
a memory of a family loss.

Amid beams flowing
out from the faces
of her children, she casts
a wider net to expand her catch

to rays of love bouncing
back from a labyrinth of eyes,
as strokes and nudges
roll from face to face
across couches in hugging
herringbone weaves.