Alette Simmons-Jiménez, A Crack in the Moon (2022)

Al ette Simmons - Jiménez

A CRACK IN THE MOON

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The hild) As told to her by her black mot Mme (Sesotho for mother)

Chapter 1 mother, (Sesotho for draw. ears comfortable heart. , wisdom. prevailed. singing when White Mother e drawings. My educator, songs were about heaven and we trees, birds, and wind.

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spaceship, passenger. d and the Otherworld. nd Mme North. meantime, schoolwork. mulberry tree, drawings, know why and . tree, The next and next.

n before. speak. with words, ognized vocal pattern Black umm r

back into this world for me, but I abandoned her.

The same way Nature is complete, even in temporal moments incompleteness, she is complete.

One dry, hot day we were listening to cicadas, up in the tree as they chirped and churned, like littlesewing machines. Itoldmy Black Motheraboutthecicad a fabric, floatingthr oughtheair.

Usually, she will laugh and embellish further on myimaginings. Instead, for the first time, Isaw her sad, and she gave me a foreboding.

No separ ation is between‘me’and‘notme’. Me, critters, rocks, trees, and the lilies, exist in the same dimension, made from the same building blocks, our existences are interdependent on each. itself, other things, Ngoana, youtastethewind youfeeltheflapofthe bird'swing youhear theacheofthemountains Child, beaw areoftheSong-eaters they areforcesthatw ill blanketyou that w ill coveryourforehead theyw ill hangwordsofstone aroundyour neck.

My Black Motherneverabandonedme, even in death, she shape shifted

Ngoana, they will erase yourheart theyw ill dull yourears, contortyourtongue Child, remember to remember do notletthemin, oropenthe door be an oasis to yourself do not abandon me and the choir within

I am from Nature. I will return to Nature. The colonial construct and its conditioningperpetuates us to believe in theconceptof brokenness. We only realized incompleteness, and brokenness via conditioning, ofgovernment,religion,anded ucation. Theconceptsofpoverty and sub standardness, was unknown in the ancient world until colonialism.

Itspreaditsmessageofinferiority -asaglob al STD , by infectious colonial ships, later, these ships ofslavery made way for modern Schooners of enslaved minds as entertainment and spectacle, on flickering analog and digital screens. It is inthestomachoftheSong-eaters that we forget about our totality.

The Song eaters hung their stones around my body, early on. .............. Mme, who should I listen to?

When gathering knowledge, read, watch, and listen similar to a bumblebee, visiting each flower, collecting the necessary amountofpollena nd leaving the flower behind.

Ngoana, you ask me who you shall listen to? Honeyourconversationby curating, refining your questions, instead: Fromwhere shall you listen from?

Ourplanethasears. Do you know where and what? Letmetellyou, Ngoana- th e tr ees. Trees listen with brutal honesty. They stand naked in the weather and sun. Without sun death. Withoutfire- no regener ation. Withoutrain- dra ught. Lettheelements beam upon you as atree. Yourcore willnotprotectyou from the truth and that in itself is the most profound protection.

The fastest way to connect with your voice and your ancestral lineage, is to plant your feet on the earth and as the mud squeeze through your toes, a song will fill your heart, it willspilloveryourlips.

When you are without song, ta keoffyourshoes, touch your soles against th eepiderm is of th eplanet. Mme, what is the role of an artist in this world? Ngoana,makeyourart, th enstepoutof th eway, and set it free to be found, it will provide inspirational desalination oftheCollectivewaters.

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