Woman of The Land
The land of oil, wired fences and embroidered table clothes. Cyprus. Here we dye the bricks green, so we know where to step. We have the wine of the immortals, and we do not even drink it. Life to us is death, and death is immortality. 50 years later, what is left is children with green lines running through their bodies. The need to unravel the layers of trauma, travelling through generations. Breaking the armour that thickens with every year. Unhurrying the stories of women of the land.
