Sharpeville Massacre Remember the dead— remember their names and faces. Remember their wives and children, who sacrificed their lives for freedom in the name of..
It is an unholy thing to look a ghost in the face. Today, my grandfather breaks into my dream again, I know it is him..
in the manner of oddities, grief collects in strange places, like fingertips— picking wildflowers from the undergrowth to adorn the ephemeral graves of road kill...
Sweat annoyed our bodies but we loved the sun too much to play with the shade Sun Songs This is how we spent our days...
the name of the man is the first thing to go, followed dutifully by his face, his hands and how he felt on your bed...
Sticky images tornado like oceans. Ebbing rivers..
noun • /saʊˈdɑːdə/ A deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent thing or someone that one cares for while simultaneously having positive emotions towards..
I can’t tell you about loss, I have never seen her face. My mind is a puzzle refusing to be completed: dry wells of tears..
I hang on to loose things that always fall away like another man’s body breaking into a tale. The first time I learnt a man,..
In the shower, water driblets pop off my wrists like sequins & those that trickle, vein both arms until I am licked clean by dryness,..
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