It’s our community. 

From her mother’s womb, she felt it,

the safety of another heartbeat with the bass of her father’s voice 

held in laughter, love, and the harmony of several tongues 

breathing culture, dance and song into the hearts of the young 

teaching the importance of family 

where to lean your heads when they were heavy 

and who to call in times of celebration 

She’s seen laugh lines deepen

crawls turn to runs 

1 plus 1 turn to cap and gown  

and “he’s a friend” turn to “I do” 

She’s seen neighbours turn to strangers 

when aunt cried herself to sleep 

hiding bruised arms 

beaten black and blue 

listening as the mothers-in-law tell her it’s happened to the rest of them 

that she must not fear because it’ll come to an end 

they say, “he’ll love you properly again. It’s just a rough patch.” 

but rough patches are made in roads 

not people 

they dressed her up and told her to humble herself as they prayed 

because after all,  It our community.