DU__ ____ES ... by EL Seudak

DUST SETTLES... ~~Dust rising from that field reminds me of home where ebony branches reach beyond the sun and clouds are late arriving. A weathered hand, combing grandchild's curls, looks like my mother's hand. Your woven shawl, the rusty spigot, these yams roasting.. reminds me of home. The bray that echoes in this darkening village sounds like my village welcoming us. Here, dancing with drummers, reminds me of home. And, on the off beat of a moment ablaze, sparks flare, eyes spark, charred toes kick up the earth. From this place, swirling smoke carries my shadow home to where I have never been. Dust settles in Africa~~

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