Above and beyond.
I bite down the urge to cry as I proceed towards the train. I remind myself again that I must not cry, even as a thick wave of emotion seizes me again and sends me spiralling
Attached—unintentional & other poems.
It is August & the city is still lonely, still grieving its loss. I am here—here, where innocence is a synonym for sin. I am here—at sarkin pawa street,
My Land is a Cruel Poet.
I am not sure if I’ve ever written of my country. Maybe because she had written me with a shaky hand like a poet drunk with cognac and departed love.
Countertransference and other poems.
In a pub/ the wind/ blowing the smoke of cigarettes alive dances through our aches/ it has been keeping off this dusty room for us/ or perhaps
Thwack, Thwack, So This is Love.
The fetid roundabout of Obalende stood glorious amidst the stale stench of urine and unfulfilled dreams. But Wunmi could not be bothered by it.
Scarecrows and other poems.
At the end, we begin again; scarecrows in a graveyard. The borders of my town led into a forest, my people entered— holding the wind with their teeth
I Call My Body a Miracle.
I know I am a dead man as soon as the machete hits my neck. Dead. Dead. Dead. Then I tell myself, “Sima, these people are going to kill you this night—run!”
Awakening.
The flickering high-wall torches cast an eerie glow on the bare-chested priest as he trudges out of the cavern temple. Abby, wherever she is in the afterlife, would be amazed that I’ve finally decided to attend the ritual.
I Bail the Cat from Rabidity and other poems.
My people have extended the hand of their evening meal into the yawning mouth of a rabid cat— this is how a child’s liberty is thrown…