On stage before the velvet drop, three men hidden by your hips, instrumental ciphers — double bass, guitar, drums — they strum; you stroll and roll your eyes.

Say them slow — Saar-tjie Baart-man, Jo-se-phine Ba-ker, Grace Al-mighty Jones — the old flesh over new bones, that puzzling Three-in-One.

Pray for us, Miriam, pray for our sticks and stones, clicking your fingers, clicking your tongue, until something in us clicks too: the sound of pieces falling into place, the sound of that thing that you do.

READ NEXT

Diane Awerbuck

Diane Awerbuck

Diane Awerbuck's first novel, Gardening at Night, struck it lucky. She writes textbooks and fiction (most recently, Cabin Fever) and reviews books for the Sunday Times. Her doctorate,...

Leave a comment