My sister is an African nun br that sits below grass houses br and rocks babies br until the sun goes down. br br She pounds grain br into a fine powder and br shoos the flies away br from the faces of children. br She never puts her head br down to rest. br br My sister wraps the babies br tight within the confines br of cobalt swathing, br and occasionally she spits br out the poisons she br inhales. br br The children surround br her as she sings in her br native tongue, her tales br of life would scare us br three times or more br br The horrors of skulls br that are just beyond br her door, and the way br they made a rabbit br bleed would make you cry. br br When my sister speaks br of death, she rocks the br babies slowly. She is br not frightened br when the sounds br of night are right br outside her door br br While some others sleep br she is working, cleaning, br taking the children down br to the river, giving br bread to hungry mouths. br br My sister's hands br fold for a simple prayer, br African mantra of the night, br never stopping, only knowing br that her babies need her.