Memory ~ Edwardson Ukata

A drop of helium into my soul,  like a spice.  An ingredient for independence,  or uplifting, or sadness.  Like years becoming stories,  folktales, near-lies.  Because they're too old to be remembered,  or forgotten— The taste of mama's breast milk,  the taste of African earth, The taste of pap, the sound of my favorite lullaby)— How [...]