Banach-Tarski/Suddenly – Akpa Arinzechukwu
We are mere observers, witnessing tradition: a long line
of trauma. Ah Lord please take our silence, send us back the soured prayer.
Let the soup be both the house & the arguments.
Sickle Cell Is the New Tribe – Jeremy Karn
there are sicknesses as old as time, there is a tribe as new as the pain your body invented,
and there are rivers that were once here but have now dragged themselves into your eyes
Ellipsis – Nwaoha Chibuzor Anthony
This is cartography.
This is how we are; we live our lives growing in the branches of things
and spend our lives trying to carve words to fill the ellipsis
Half-mast In Idlib – Agunbiade Kehinde
the night gets halved as the broadcast from the radio declares another series of loss. grief is no place to seek asylum when borders close & the shadows of your lost ones haunt the nights
Kwa Esther #8 – Clifton Gachagua
here, there’s no time for memory or regret or any feelings
of shame, or nostalgia, or experimenting. no looking back.
to start something with someone I want to impress
I mention I’m reading Delany’s Hogg.
Iriabo – Fubaraibi Benstowe
Barefooted woman
Dancer submerged in music
Swing, swing on
The waist is praised for ripples made in the arena
a long dance – Clifton Gachagua
what I am is metadata, dream text. mathematics without the science. fuck roots. these names continue to mean nothing. I’m a blue, underlined link to a page of useless language
Kunju Seghi – Fubaraibi Benstowe
Tell me, what semblance in nature can outshine your steps?
The dance of mangroves when the wind plays their drums?
Or the bubble dance of boiling soup
Touching Tips – Jarred Thompson
i. When the tip of me touches the tip of youit is only the tip of the icebergplunging deep and forgetting the fear of the leap offthe highest point in the heart. ii. In high school we had a science project to make a Jacob’s Ladder.We bunked school, Muhamad and I, alone at his house,working […]
if i die, what would my family write as my biography – Ugochukwu Damian
my lover holds my hands & whispers safe into the labyrinth of my right ear to calm the tremor dancing on my hands, but still, this revival crumbles at the foot of my demons.
Ikoja (passing) – Jubril Badmus
This machine regulates mein ways;at times it secretes serotoninat certain juncturesin the way a dial returns againaccordingly to indicatepassinglike a crepuscular fireflyawaiting twilight: I found myself grimacingat your foot again, asking for permission into your absence.Should I?before entering – 1. Obey the purplish glow 2. master […]
[This morning, in the mirror] – Henneh Kyereh Kwaku
This morning, in the mirror I saw my dead uncle. This time, he didn’t have an afro he had grown beard, looks like he brought his afroto the chin & cheeks. Of all the dead uncles, he’s the onethe aunties cry about. Even death loved something about him to want him from us. Something the […]
