Written by Hannah Tayla
She smelled of cigarettes and mothballs, mingled with the undercurrents of unisex perfume. Saliva outlined the corners of her lips like brackets, hanging onto every word she said. Her hair was thick, and coarse, forever refusing to let age remove the silver crown upon her head. The skin on her face was a full, rich caramel, bronzed and blotched by dark patches which sewed itself together like a quilt to the lighter skin beneath. Deep crevices cut across her forehead and the ends of her eyes, recalling the many journeys of heartache and turmoil endured within the landscape of her lifetime.
She always carried sweets and ten rand notes in her handbag, to later slide them surreptitiously into the fingers of her grandchildren and whisper, “Don’t tell your mother!”, when the time was right. Red nail polish embedded itself onto her toenails. Pastel coloured crumpled tissue paper outlined the edges of her long- sleeved blouses, like frills, every time she tucked them in between the folds of the material.
Across her calves, blue and green veins grew like lush ivy covering an old mansion. The joints on her hands stood out like knobs, knobs which opened many doors of opportunity for her descendants. When she laughed the phlegm on her chest, too, would rise in bitter excitement. Her figure was unrestrained by society’s desire to harness and suffocate every bulge. Her heart was huge and the flicker in her eyes was never extinguished.
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