The Weight of the Sun
When I was seven, my grandmother kept a bowl of fruit on the windowsill in Enugu. In the late afternoon, the sun would hit the skins of the oranges, turning them into small, glowing lanterns that seemed to hold the heat of the entire day inside…
The Weight of Patience
My grandmother used to keep a jar of starter on the counter that she claimed was older than my father. Every Friday, the kitchen would fill with the smell of flour and damp earth, a ritual that felt less like cooking and more like keeping a…
The Weight of Stone
We build to keep the wind out. We stack stone upon stone, creating hollows where we might hide from the vastness of the sky. There is a strange comfort in being beneath the earth, in the damp silence that swallows the sound of our own breathing.…