Jacinta Cox

“That I needed for her to be with me, watching, making sure the oranges I plant grow properly, so that we’d know they would cure something; loneliness. Sadness. Scurvy of the heart. So that when we’re buried in the dirt, and our peel rots, and our flesh is eaten, and our juice runs down the neck of Mother Earth, the oranges we hold can grow into more trees with more oranges, dropping fruit for our children until they can reach for themselves.”
― Matt Okine, Being Black 'n Chicken, and Chips