Corey Mwamba


Remembering, just for a day.

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.

I see the vessel fill
(noise reduction)
more is poured; more is drunk
(I remember this too)
the vessel fills
the vessel is full
there is more
(the vessel is full)
there is nowhere for the memories to drain
the vessel is still full
the vessel carries all
it sails
(I will use this)
it lands
it carries more
the vessel drains
but it is still full
it sails

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