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Maria James-Thiaw's Writings

The Pitkin Review
Aunt Rosie's Gift   Eyes closed, I saw her, as if through water; She had lost decades, her thick hair, black her figure, shapely, tall, straight, untouched by age. She lifted a smooth hand, smiled, waved and faded away. Eyes opened, I heard her; She'd soon be going home. So I went to her, the keeper of the tales, our griot, rich with family stories....