"Threaded there between the gritty residue that coated our shoes, that covered our hands with soot, was a love story. Not simply between man and woman, but man and his chiseling tools that filled his hands when there was nothing left to do, man and his family, who met his needs yet left him wanting, man and his fellow man, man and his entire neighborhood." - Naledi Biyela on If Beale Street Could Talk I ain't never seen anything like it before. I suppose I've read some. But my mind couldn't conjure a picture as efficient As to see, actually see, our lives our people, communities.. Under this, not sugar-coated But very warm gaze. A gentle lighting. The golden hour before the sun sets At complete odds with what our world looks like in the dead of the night Under a harsh fluorescent light, unforgiving flashlight Where shadows are exaggerated, distorted And everything becomes ghoul... I can't explain how amazing it feels to be seen, instead of studied. Like a
