Fists clenched, she stretched out her arms, hugging the world and letting go quickly. Her tiny feet kicked the air about her, as if she were knocking off some undesirable elements that lay ahead. Her skin was much too pink for someone whose source was jointly dark. Her eyes barely opened, but when they did, they were squinted, in scrutiny of the contours of the faces that peered down at her. She had no hair yet.

Her grandmother had inadvertently given her left ear two peirces, her life’s course was set.



Nana Yaa (c) 2016


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