Pilgrimage, by Saheed Sunday
On the street of Ikorodu, a boy painted in the color of his fatherland stuffs all periodic elements in his […]
On the street of Ikorodu, a boy painted in the color of his fatherland stuffs all periodic elements in his […]
Sometimes a painting reminds you of a story,other times, it becomes a map leading you back to all the places
My lover killed meAs lovers are wont to doAnd buried me beneath the lilies I paid for, beside other regretsI’ve
The owls in the vault of your mouth confess their grieving silence to the chapel of the dead when a tarantula uplifts a
(for Jean-Pierre Adams, in coma for almost four decades before his passing) What landscapes emerge when the spirit goesfor a
It is the Day of the Dead, and I smile knowing my ancestors and my guides have never been more
“Wake up and ache for your life.” — Natalie Diaz I do not assure you the ligament protruding from your
after the flood we grew carnivore pumpkins,fed on flood fish—silver fish, too small for species,unlucky—they had died in the mud
in the beginning, everything shape-shifts into grace, into harmony. all the prayers made on my bodybecame roses sprouting on my
After the killing of cows and herdsman in Enugu Prelude: [In the storm / the brief branches of lightning /