Aunty Nelly reappeared, like a rare moon one night, looking as thin as a broomstick from years of sugar-cane harvests. Following her — a string of children, she had dropped like mangoes after storms.
We look past her failings, her fallen, bruised life, happy she’s still living, because she’ one of us .
We welcomed back our wayward one who had left because village life stifling.
She knew then she was wise beyond her teenage years, was ready to go her own way, and had shouted as she left, me na one for classroom an’ ting, me no need de book dem, me go follow me heart, see weh it go.
And we, seeing where her heart went restrained our tongues.
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