The love I have for Doremi is a watermark, not a pencil line. I tell
(for Fr. Felix Tyolaha, Fr. Joseph Gor, Mbalom and Naka)² On a quiet dawn in
Her sclera is a waned flax colour, like the husk of a ripe cacao fruit.
Dear Chinedu, It’s funny, but I just realised I’m free from all your drama.
The boy is taken with the forest, the musk of wet bark – bold, consuming,
The year Mama fell sick was the year Njideka confessed to me that she was
While I plunged the fishing hook into the river, I was thinking of you: the
Dear Writers/Literary Enthusiasts, After considering some collision in the form of semester examinations, and the