A random tale by Kweku Abeeku
Briskly, smoothly, she walks.
Her waist beads swing like a pendulum as her hips roll like the waves of the Biriwa—
but the sound that rises now isn’t the deep call of the sea.
It’s the bright shake of maracas.
Even the earth softens beneath her step. Angels stumble at the rhythm of her movement, and the young man on the bench—
the one she left when she rose in anger— prays, she’ll always walk away like this, so he can witness her grace one more time.