storytelling is a sensory experience. it’s much more than spoken word, it’s in the tension of the cheeks, the wink of an eye, the drumming of your finger tips. it’s in the rage, the anger, the despair felt behind the friction.
there’s a story told in the upturned sprout in the sun. in the way my body recoils from the slightest touch, and in the moments when it finally gives in. it’s the space between a breath and the pace of your steps, running across the pavement.
it’s in the wrinkles of your scars and the softness of your belly. the moments when my tongue is tied and i say too much. or too little. i wish you had heard, what it was i wished to tell.
but it’s in the way you forgive and the way i don’t forget. carried with it all those apologies once said before, from them to you to me to them.
storytelling is a sensory experience. and the lines are creased onto the palms of your hand.
***where my mind wandered after a talk hosted by Margaret Kemarre Turner [MK] on the impossible transference of ancient language into our modern one. sharing her app that teaches Arrernte language to new generations, and visitors of the land as well.***