Childhood

The river wasn’t just water,it was the pulse under our feet,the heartbeat of a village stitched from memory and sunlight.We knew its bends the way we knew each other’s laughter,each…

He placed me in the arms of a womanwho carried the weight of the sky on her shoulders,in a village where even the air was quiet with distance.I was the…

Where I’m from,we don’t call it summer,we don’t call it winter—no, our seasons have their own names.In the cold, rainy season,we slid through the mud like children chasing freedom,our feet…