Search

And. And. And – Rutendo Chichaya

how many more must it take,
who is allowed to breathe?
some are deemed more worthy,
yet silence in the face of injustice
is betrayal.
Death. Wounding. Displacement

Innocence – Isra Hassan

After genesis, Muslims hear the adhan twice.
The birth. Then, conducted by death, the rebirth.
The adhan comes as a vision. A confession.
It washes over you. It swears to you, this
enlightenment, that your soul has, exists.

Devotion – Isra Hassan

Certitude stowed in geodes, stowed
in embryos, stowed in a Tribute’s
uterine space. Perhaps this where
the voices of ancestors convene.

Adam of Abak – Chinuzoke Chinuwa

So, if the world is different now
that I don’t belong in Heaven, do I have
to grow Paradise alone?
Answer me, dear ghost
of my youthful lust.
You who led me here,
naked and clueless.

Mosquito Bite – Chinuzoke Chinuwa

but what did he wait for?
A wife who owed him a kiss, a crown from a dying
king’s head, an ill child’s embrace, a life after death?
So much waiting, so you look forward to night-time
when dreams unlikely to come true are the brightest

All Those Losses – Prosper Ifeanyi

Sometimes I listen to my
mother & father talk in the bedroom; they must love
each other so much even in their muffled cries of
things they both have lost. What can they do if not
place hearts into each other’s chests?

F I S H   H E A D – Brian Gyamfi

I slit them. Each cut smoked and flourished. 
I became heaven, water flowing from flesh, 
blemish-black ginger scent. The priest left the crust
and I smiled like an old man’s
house, sadden to see crumbs scattered

W H A T   W I L L   P E O P L E   S A Y – Brian Gyamfi

At Sea World my nanny once said, “it’s ridiculous to be given an old heart as if it’s an object, like expensive cement, or a leg so blistered and plunging.” Now she’s dead.

Reincarnated as the centipede father squashed; she’s dead again.

Gazelles – Simon Ng’uni

there must be wind high enough to raise this song above the mountains;
there must be waves full enough to fill the hollow which forms
the valley should the tides break
if your feet fail, there must be wings, and only such things that belong to air

To Call the Air a Limb – Tahnia Barrie

We mean to tuck in her backbone
There to nighten, to drink the color and the flight from her

Before she knows enough to call the air a limb,
And to call the limb, a wing, two,
Growing on marrow.