stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18978
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2018-06-15 15:31:11
    [post_date_gmt] => 2018-06-15 15:31:11
    [post_content] => Ayomide,
yes, I speak to you.
Never in your nimble mind ever stare
into the hollow thing
in the middle of another man’s eye
when he calls you by anything other than your first name.

Yes, I speak to you,
In the cynical instance where the efforts,
where the lights in the sky of our fathers
have dimmed to nothing more
than a continent trapped,
apologizing for its existence,
then this is what you do.

Yes, I still speak to you,
if irrationality becomes rational,
african becomes an apology,
then it is logical to speak to
a three-year-old.

Listen.

Yes, remember the teddy bear,
that remains as your monument of childhood.
Tear out its hairs,
and bind their light strands
with your infinite supply of tears,
to show that you stand as a woman.

Yes, if you are bound neck down
by woven textures to your mother’s back,
captivated by the warmth of bondage,
then use your little hands,
to squeeze that ribcage
and grip your independence.

No, if your reddened gums
have become armed,
you are not to shoot,
you are to shout,
you are to speak,
as I speak to you.
    [post_title] => Instructions to the Three-Year Old Grandchild
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => instructions-to-the-three-year-old-grandchild
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2018-06-15 15:31:11
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2018-06-15 15:31:11
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=18978
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2018
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is the third-prize winner in the protest poetry challenge, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK, on Young Poets Network (YPN) in 2018.

Foyle Young Poet Ankita Saxena, who wrote and judged this challenge, said, "Fiyinfoluwa’s poem is tender and enchanting. He adopts many of the tropes of the protest poems we looked at in the challenge: a refrain line, a message that is both personal and political and a narrative pulse. I particularly loved the final stanza, where Fiyinfoluwa’s speaker instructs the ‘three-year old grandchild’ not to ‘shoot’ but to ‘shout’: a bold and well-needed affirmation of the role language can play in reversing power structures."
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => 3rd prize winner, protest poetry challenge
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 18726
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Fiyinfoluwa Timothy Oladipo
            [slug] => fiyinfoluwa-timothy-oladipo
            [content] => Fiyinfoluwa Timothy Oladipo is the third-prize winner in Ankita Saxena’s protest poetry challenge on Young Poets Network, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK; commended in the Thinking Outside the Penalty Box challenge; and third-prize winner in the Wish List challenge on Young Poets Network.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18726
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Fiyinfoluwa Timothy Oladipo
    [slug] => fiyinfoluwa-timothy-oladipo
    [content] => Fiyinfoluwa Timothy Oladipo is the third-prize winner in Ankita Saxena’s protest poetry challenge on Young Poets Network, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK; commended in the Thinking Outside the Penalty Box challenge; and third-prize winner in the Wish List challenge on Young Poets Network.
)

Instructions to the Three-Year Old Grandchild

Fiyinfoluwa Timothy Oladipo

Ayomide,
yes, I speak to you.
Never in your nimble mind ever stare
into the hollow thing
in the middle of another man’s eye
when he calls you by anything other than your first name.

Yes, I speak to you,
In the cynical instance where the efforts,
where the lights in the sky of our fathers
have dimmed to nothing more
than a continent trapped,
apologizing for its existence,
then this is what you do.

Yes, I still speak to you,
if irrationality becomes rational,
african becomes an apology,
then it is logical to speak to
a three-year-old.

Listen.

Yes, remember the teddy bear,
that remains as your monument of childhood.
Tear out its hairs,
and bind their light strands
with your infinite supply of tears,
to show that you stand as a woman.

Yes, if you are bound neck down
by woven textures to your mother’s back,
captivated by the warmth of bondage,
then use your little hands,
to squeeze that ribcage
and grip your independence.

No, if your reddened gums
have become armed,
you are not to shoot,
you are to shout,
you are to speak,
as I speak to you.