Coolie

That girl with the nappy hair
Knows something about you.
The way she stares
Her eyes a dead giveaway.
She bristles when you walk past
Catches her breath.
Woman’s intuition
More powerful to her
Than crystals and cowrie shells
Fables and palmistry.
Most days she plaits and braids
Sowing extensions
Into the frowns
Of gossips who chat non-stop
Neighbourhood griots
Too coarse for special titles.
She laughs a little
Elder’s heads between her thighs
And spins a tapestry
Her own fine design.
Bartered trinklets for her trouble
And good advice.
Watch that one
-He’s Tu.

By Raymond Enisuoh