I taste the dust of the road
that leads me back home
once every December
and a little bit of January
the sky holds back rain showers
harmattan wind from the north
scorching sun from the east
a tale in between my lips
of family members
near and dear
of those far away
beyond the oceans
and those sleeping
in the dust of the earth
a prayer in my heart
for those who bear my grandfather’s name
by birth
by marriage
and all who wish us well
I taste the dust of the road
that calls me back to the city
to begin the yearly bustle
as I await another December
