As I walked out
of my house,

I noticed an ambulance
stilled by my neighbour's.

The neighbourhood was gathered, 
chattering hushed gossip,
at the gates--

Finding Aunt Yaya,
from the market,
at the edge of the crowd,
I went up to her.

"What's going on?" 

When I asked that,
it seemed they were hesitant.

The police were standing
at the side,
as if crime
had just occurred--

"You remember Biimi?"

Aunt Yaya put a palm
at her chin, troubled.

A nod was given in response--
who could forget?

The talented little child,

bright and charming,
lively and full of energy.

"Well, it seems,
although there was
nothing wrong before,"
Aunt Yaya was grim,
"last night,
she committed
suicide."