by Donatienne Voneche
Whether this significance of being here behind
This jigsaw shouts at me do not follow
Whether the illusory of our weave
Might make us to float without shadows
I shall be the cord of your harp
The sound won’t be as hollow as the binding of our previous sorrow
The touch won’t be a finger at my lows but a rapturous melody towards gripping to each other’s palm.
Donatienne Voneche was born in Haiti and grew up in Belgium with an international family of 24 adopted brothers and sisters. She has a BA in Video and Film from the Surrey Institute of Art & Design (UK). Donatienne says: “I acquired a sense of freedom in literature through various experiences such as living with the Tuareg (a nomadic North African tribe) in the Sahara desert at the age of 21.” Donatienne lives in Hove, near Brighton, England.