This poem was chosen by Vivek Narayanan, the 2024-2025 Diann Blakely Visiting Poet.

in our neighbourhood the roosters have chosen silence, refusing to receive the glorious rise of the morning sun with us. it has been so long since we heard the sound of crowing, the generation who formed a bond with trees remain haunted by tree stumps; my grandmother among them. often i have heard it said, that the living keep the spirit of the dead with them, holding it inside, here, there & everywhere. in our neighbourhood, only the sound system refuses to die, the presence of an elder no longer lulls loud subwoofers to sleep; & this is how we lose them some of us will say. in isiZulu, the word for shade & dignity is one & the same, the gathered wood we chopped down in silver, another time we fell short. & this is how we surrendered them, because our minds were too stubborn to yield, with a passion so warm it burnt, as if harsh rays of the sun would never hurt us again, so forgetful, that even the trees serve a purpose