WHEN HOME IS A CALRDON…

Poetry by Joshua Idowu Omidire thirsty man fills his cartridges with roses. it takes a blood spring to quench a morbid thirst. lives fall like withered petals in the face of shattering shots. that’s how bloodless gods defend their territories. cartographer is busy drawing lines across the lands. the stripes...

BED AND BEDDING

Poetry by Charlotte Derby Kete Krachi was the town I had flown sixteen hours first class in a tin bird drove nine hours on a rough bumpy road to meet a woman     -   My mother’s, mother’s, mother   Her little hut was her castle Her fingers, a mixture of wrinkles...

ABLE BODIES

Poetry by Aeesha Abdullahi Alhaji winds howled—pulling hearts from southern caves of prodigals/search for rejuvenations. a therapy conjures past memories to repair broken frames—of sacred faces, a boon eternal on african maps, crimson as blue orbs in earth, searching home(sick) souls, in lights aligning our dusky temples.     Afrikaans...

DANCING IN THE AMERICAS

Poetry by David Martin Aliker Dear Dollo, You have been in my dreams since you left dancing in a circle with your African brothers to your favorite traditional Bwola dance.   If you will ever go dancing in the Americas don’t dance in a circle with your brothers don’t dance to...

INTENTIONS

Poetry by Deborah Saki I wrap my intentions in the brightly colored fabrics of my home, (And) fold them into the recesses of my heart, when the officer at the immigration desk asks, “What is your business here?” I say my letters well-rehearsed - The degree, the research, the advancement...

COMMUNION

Poetry by Afiah Obenewaa Tomorrow I will phone my white-skinned brother. In my dream I forget to remember. He is a dark-skinned soul trapped in sheaths of white. In my dreams. I will tell him I won the Colour Pageant. I will tell him I now own hearts. And command...

THERE ARE MANY WAYS TO RETURN HOME

Poetry by Roseline Mgbodichinma (Ụzọ) i You start with an egg (àkwá) In a new country / an egg is an omelet In your nostalgia / it is the warmth of your Mother's womb / It is craving the arms that nursed you / Whether they be living or dead....

COLOURS

Poetry by A. D. Xavier Ijeawele You are walking to the stream again Bare-footed and shea butter-coated To the banks where Europeans' feet first docked Before gathering hides Brown-skinned bodies And sun-ripened alligator pepper in body bags While their blue eyes smiled into the face of Lawinor Eneke the bird...