South Africa I think you caught my words. You definitely made my heart skip, my voice dance. Thank you for all the places you have filled with noise. I am ready for return, loaded with stories and back to Bristol. ❤️
My mother’s song is unaware. A secret hum that accompanied washing up, sweeping, cleaning the outside and in of our homes, of our temple bodies. It’s a rollercoaster that circles, that keeps me giddy and high, that always returns me back to her no matter how many times I plummet.
My mother’s song is a space, still left to be packed with voice. It is the heartbreak of distance and forgotten vowels, it is borrowed and found, in almost every bruised mouth it is something miraculous waiting to be heard.