May Contest

Uncle Kernel Soup

Pa was dead and I had turned twelve when the palm fruits started coming.
Ma would cook it and call him over.
We would sit under the low canopy of the apple tree.
“Here is your kernel soup,” Ma would say and set down two earthen bowl with fufu in one. He would tell me to sit close to him and by the glow of the lamp, we would eat.
On a rainy evening when I turned eighteen, he came to take me away.
Ma just sighed and told me to follow, that he had paid with the palm fruits.


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