A small selection of both published and unpublished poems in video, text, and audio.
-
Cracks
A bruise is a squashed egg, sunny side up. A squashed egg, sunny side up, is an abused woman
-
Kelsley
I am on my knees, tussling once more with the buckle of your belt while you caress a strand …
-
Pathology
Dissection is ugly business. Each moment sliced and quartered, atomic slivers. A lingering fistful of…
-
This Is For
This is for the wide-eyed wonderers. The Aquarius star-kissing water-bearers. The synapse-bending, neuron-splitting, truth-seekers…
-
Saltwater Parable
Paella-scented. Sea-water flecked. Skin the same dusky oil as mine…
-
The Andrea Gibson Love Poem
I can’t listen to Andrea Gibson poems without remembering how you turned my forearm over in your hand…
Photograph by Kojo Apeagyei
neither birthplace, nor genetics, still home
after Sumia Jaama’s ‘Before Leaving’
Any phone number beginning +254 / is a trip wire / the phone rings loud / and long / in my hand / the map of the world pulls slowly in / or out / of focus / I do not answer / the voicemail greeting loops / samahani, mteja wa nambari uliopiga, hapatikani kwa sasa / in the kitchen I search for chapatis and lost accents / find only crumpets / snow on the window sill / when my new friends call / their phone numbers belong / local status 0 / I answer on the second ring / English can sound so curt and stiff / I say asante sana / forget they do not know this tongue on me / all the mangoes here have lost their sweetness / a man on the street points at the shape of Africa / silver around my cream neck / asks if I’m from there / ndiyo sounds old in my mouth / the way truths can gather dust when neglected / he tells me of a home I do not share / we find common ground in the red earth he describes / I am thankful / this man does not assume me tourist / some nights in bed / I dial numbers I know will go to voicemail / and lull myself into dreams / starlings rising