What does it mean to grow up too soon and still find a way to bloom? In this intimate and expansive debut collection, Chioniso moves through childhood, loss, love and becoming, with a voice that is both deeply personal and unmistakably African. These poems carry memory as a language the body refuses to forget. Moving between Bulawayo, Johannesburg and the silent interiors of the self, the architecture of inheritance: of mothers and grandmothers, of homes that breathe, of nations that fracture and endure, is traced with precision. Grief is stitched into walls, simmered in pots of sadza, carried in the marrow of names. Girlhood ripens into womanhood beneath jacaranda trees and love learns to survive in the smallest, most ordinary acts. With striking imagery and a voice at once tender and unflinching, this collection explores what it means to grow up in the shadow of loss, to rebuild the self from memory, and to belong. To a body, to a family, to a country still becoming. These are poems of lineage and longing, of learning how to carry the past without being buried by it, and of the radical act of continuing. Samantha Rumbidzai Vazhure, PoetThis collection of poems feels like home, the warmth of the familiar disrupted by an undeniable and raw grief. Chioniso is a genius. Her technical skill is unquestionable, but the vulnerability it took to create this work is what truly sets -Blood-joy- apart. "Ropafadzo", only Chioniso could make words bend in that manner. Tinashe Tafirenyika, Poet