My mother’s voice makes you
Think of past wars
When she tells you to stir the soup,
It’s as though she’s teaching
You how to hold a gun
When she tells you to clean the room,
It’s as though she’s training
You to pack for the day you have to run
I turn twenty-three tomorrow
And I still know nothing about love –
Only that boys carry knives under their shorts
And they’ll cut deep if I try
I am beginning to look more like a woman
My breasts shake on bumpy rides
And I hold them like I would a child –
Afraid they might fall off my chest
And unto the ground
Driving lessons with my dad are
Nothing like I’ve ever known
He says imagine the wheel is a long dance
You turn and spin on your own
Until a hand reaches out from the crowd
Red means stop – take him in.
Does he make you want to become
A child again?
Or does he steal away your dreams?
Yellow means get ready –
Take in a deep breath.
Choose love, choose love.
You only live once.
Green means go –
Pull him in and give him a dance
Of a lifetime
Tryphena Yeboah is a Creative Writing Teaching Assistant at the Ghana Institute of Journalism.