Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

I begged my bones to be kind to me. They remembered yesterday and praised tomorrow. How will we stay the same they said. Now that we know the meaning of grace. So we let them drown as if in a pool of never ending water, as if in a sea of roaring waves, knowing they already know, the strength of a weak life, the depths of falling rain. How grateful we are for not replacing these bones.