do not tell me
I, even I, who silhouette myself against the clouds
dance in the rain at Kutsime and walked with goats to school
should not know the paths through the plateau
to the house on the hilltop
"I have not come this far
only to sit by the roadside
and break into tears
I could have wept at home
without a journey of several thorns
I have not spread my wings
so wide only to be huddled into corners
at the mere mention of storms"
so, do not tell me
I, even I, who raced against whirlwinds,
ate dried fish from basins of the Volta
and ate with my fingers and walked with wolves without shoes
should not learn to dance in the sun's rays
do not tell me
I, even I, who sang on village lanes, knew the breeze of palmleaves
slept on palm fronds, lost my house to bushfires, and shed tears
for bad harvests at home, should look for tears
again away from home
"I have not come this far
only to sit by the roadside
and break into tears
I could have wept at home
without a journey of several thorns
I have not spread my wings
so wide only to be huddled into corners
at the mere mention of storms"
I know how to dart
sparkling white eyes, flash pallid ivory teeth
sing in a voice crystallizing into raindrops
and breathe the breeze in the house on the hilltop
long before I journeyed through several thorns
away from home
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