The Age of Grace
Styling
and Photography
by Grace Young
Across the Serengeti plain our matriarch would lead, Dining on the guarri fruit, and gum acacia seeds. Upon our sweet green namesake grass our bellies we would fill, I’d visit with my mother’s bones, nap in the northern hills. We’d cross the Mara river, then the southern rains would fall, We’d see the African spoonbill, and hear the weaver bird call. We’d care for all the young ones, and with my sisters I would roam, Victoria Lake... But then I’d wake, give up my dreams of home. I’d bust my cage, I’d smash the door, and trample all around,
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