SONGS OF OURSELVES

❦ praise

i'm in over my head

i don't think of you like bits and pieces

i think of you as a miracle

lovin' so deeply

i feel it through all my past lives

it feels good

i'm never saying goodbye

❧ alabama shakes, "over my head"

Sometimes Sunkanmi dreamt of being so small, she could fit in the space between breaths.

In her latest dream, she slept in a giant's hand until the stars came home.

She was too delicate for the wilderness. A child could've shattered her shell.

The giant's breath warmed her skin as he crossed the world in four bounds. He spoke in whispers. A shy titan. Too kind for such a menacing face.

He promised to carry her to a better place, and she swore to never leave him.

He was happy, and so was she.

In those tiny dreams, she never felt safer.

[But I don't know any giants.]

❦

Sunkanmi dreamt of glass, and oceans, and sky.

Here, she was thirteen, chasing after her uncle's prize pig with terror in her heart.

She watched in despair as the fat sow, strangely quick on its feet, turned a corner on the beach and disappeared.

She dreaded the lashes awaiting her when she returned empty-handed.

Circling overhead, a black seagull cackled at her misfortune.

She threw a rock at it and missed.

[But I've never lived by the sea.]

❦

Flowers and gold.

Sometimes it was flowers and gold.

A woman in the market stole her eye and refused to let go.

She smelled like paprika and danger.

She laughed often and bought nothing.

She arrived every day with a new story to tell.

After the woman left, Sumkanmi waited for the burning in her stomach to subside before turning back to her ceramics.

Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

[But I've never sold pottery.]

❦