Georgia Review Archive for Ama Codjoe
Sometimes I feel like a goddess
with many hands . . . except human.
One hand is amber-gloved, dripping
with honey, and two constantly shoo
the flies.… read more
Because she lives alone and my hands reach
where hers can’t, she asks of me this favor.
It is narrow and soft, my mother’s back.
When I massage in… read more
In the morning my eyes look thirsty
like a willow leaning toward
its reflection. My mother waits
inside the circles. One day
I will remember her at her… read more