BÓDÌJÀ
At dawn just before the Sun Bodija awakes. Traders humming prayers into the air in greeting, Stalls stretch their wooden arms into the air And baskets of tomatoes glow in red ranks. The market breathes, slow and deep. As pepper grinds sting the sleepy eyes. Voices rise and fall like drums in the square Calling buyers from every dusty path. Women move like rivers after rain, Flowing…
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