When We Speak of Home 1 When we speak of homeWe speak of casualties, speak
“A group of heavily armed men in trucks carried out an attack of mass murder,
How do we even say this: that rejection is one overused phrase drugged into every
*Second Runner-up for the O.A. Ejesu Poetry Prize with The Muse no. 48 JournalI must
You were both crossing the grounds next to the Faculty Hall. A slight wind rustled the leaves and the low grass, bending and shaking them, filling the night with eerie whispers. Branches creaked. Looking up, the moon’s dull luminescence seemed a bit ominous to you. The stars, as always, were innumerable.
his lover’s chest
broad and flat but bursting at the seams with love
Faiza: (smiles) What about me do you think of?
Arinze: I think of your bushy brows and your big eyes, your lush skin. And your smile. When you smile, it is like the moon.
On the road, you will see them: Brittle boys whose bodies are cities of grief.
Perhaps it was the imprudence of human thinking, but when the young priest had tagged
I am that leaf that’s desperate to leave the whole branch, the whole tree not