Blood Oranges
for Alice Iddi
On the red red road to Ouagadougou
homeward bound, bouncing in the jeep
Alice wondered how her father, who had never
travelled from his village ever, more than fifteen miles,
and never once imagined flying
came in his (and her) sleep
a million market days away in Ottawa
to tell her he was dying
How did his spirit find its way from Ghana
to a land of which he never could have dreamed?
In Boromo we broke our midnight journey:
quietly in the darkness traders clustered round small fires
crowds of women sold us hand-warm oranges
cut across the tops to suck out juice
just like my father made for me
a million market days away, across an altogether different sea
Page(s) 37
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