Poetry by Awo Twumwaah
My fingers will not keep bloom for too long
It is why I do not own anything.
They shiver, they sweat, they do not believe it is theirs.
Then they feel it too softly. They let it fall.
My fingers are clasped in prayer.
they hold a strange man. A strange woman.
My fingers are clasped in prayer.
Every morning. In truth
They do not believe. They do not believe in heavy words.
They say redemption.
They say sanctification.
They say justification. They do not believe
In blood. My fingers are apostates. My finger goes away. My finger
thinks its thoughts. My finger believes
Nothing that comes to it must stay. Not bloom. Not answered prayer.
Bio
Awo Twumwaah currently lives in Accra, Ghana. She works in the accounting and finance field, and is a lover of the arts. She is currently interested in poetry, fiction and the performing arts. She shares her life and work on her blog and her social media platforms.
@awotwumwaah
Originally published July 14, 2019