The footpath leading to the lake where she walked barefoot with the 
red soil discolouring her bronze skin. 
As the dust rises, she hopes to emerge as its daughter waiting to be 
uplifted by the wind. 
She looked back at her footsteps imprinted in the sand wondering 
if her ancestors had embossed their footprints too. 
A misbegotten music feeling alone and unloved wondering 
why she is different.
This is what nobody told her. 
Twelve years ago, under the winter moonlight, 
when the butterfly wings were clipped.
 The darkness hummed and its tune was conception. 
Nine months later, by the sugarcane flux, Kisse squatted over 
pushing to give birth.
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