Saturday, April 23, 2016

6 ft

Grandmothers burying themselves 
In the aroma of fresh Akara in the morning 
To rid of grandpas sweat from the night before
When he came in the compound drunk
Dragging her by her newly threaded hair and ripping her freshly washed rappa 
Deep hues of indigo . He ruined the delicate saturations of experimental tie dye 
He entered her as she laid still
She was used to this so she went on a journey in her mind 
Frying Akara in the morning 
It's the only pastime with a scent so strong she could leave herself and go under 

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