It is Ash Wednesday
The air smells of cold dust and morning birds
We wake up by 6 am, Fola, Kemi and I.
Fola is my best friend, well it is complicated now
But yes, Fola is my "best friend" who is sleeping over because his parents are out of town.
Kemi is my sister.
Mom and Dad woke us up at 6am.
Although I was up already.
I heard the door of the bathroom in mum's room open.
That was when I ran back to my room.
It is Ash Wednesday.
My clothes have been picked out already.
The kind of white that brings the transfiguration to mind
It makes me look pure; like a virgin
Which I was, technically.
Mom and Dad went to bed at 10:18 pm.
I know, because I checked more than once.
Fola must have been checking too
Because he came into my room at 10:20,
To ask that I came over to his room to talk
One of our talks that rolled into dawn and left our days drowsy
A good kind of drowsy.
It is Ash Wednesday.
Fola is an altar server,
I have never been one to serve in church.
Fola's white makes him look like an angel, a virgin
Which he was, technically.
Fola and I are in his room
Our intoxicating conversation is heating
He uses this as an opportunity to come close.
To make our conversation melt into a kiss
I do not know how.
But soon after the melting, our words were only being spoken in the language of body parts.
Fola's hands are cold as they wrap
Caress
Speak
In tongues,
Vulgar tongues.
Our conversation was full of insides.
My hands in his pants.
His in my bra,
Then my pants
And when it is over.
I am staring at this stranger
This part of him I had never met before
Fola's fingers are no longer virgins.
Neither is my mouth
Nor his mouth
Nor my fingers
and eyes.
But technically, we are virgins.
Because no one tells you that sometimes, your body parts loose their virginity first.
That sometimes,
On Ash Wednesday, you would wake up in a pool of regret.
Confused by your own curiosity
That you would brush your teeth until your gum is bleeding but still unclean.
But we are in today
And it is Ash Wednesday
And my dress feels whiter than my soul
And Fola wraps the same fingers that have been in ungodly places around the bowl containing ash
As the father presses against my forehead.
"From dust you came and unto dust you shall return"
