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.

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.