Corey Mwamba

"don't cry, try."

My hands wait, struck and bound by sadness. My head is bowed. I reach into memory; find everything and nothing. I must move my hands. I know when I was. How do I speak about not knowing a when? I think about ships, and passage, and chains. My hands are bound. I must move my hands. My eyes are wrapped in water, my mouth sealed. I think about jelly and cream, frying pans and drain pipes, cakes, and sugar. I must lift my head. I think about theft, and loss, and love, and resilience. I cannot remember when there was no struggle. I always remember trying. I move my hands.