LIKE AN AFRICAN?

An eating habit

Freeing the soul and taste bud

In tongue-land like eagle wings

Could do all good

Any day the sun shines, dims, blurs or goes to sleep

II

I don’t live like a grasshopper!

My tongue might run like an alien

But the same tongue runs smoother like the native I am

Who is African?

Ask me that, and I’ll tell you I’m that she

That she who lives in the dirt

That she who lives through fees of petrol with running legs

That she who stays to help fix it all

That she who enjoys the sun

That she who is grateful for the rainy days

That she who listens to mouths of know-nots yapping on radios

and is mostly disgusted but knows they are of her flesh

That she whose eyes dance to the disco lights through her bulb on her bed

That she who is confused as to what to wear

blending trousers with “kaba”

knowing “amoasene” is archaic

Yes, I’m that she, that she with blood of blackness

Blackness which is not doom

Blackness which is African

Blood with compassion

Blood with arms opened wide

And heart opened to share what should be shared:

Love

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014