as a kid, maami would wrap my fallen tooth with verses from psalms, mutter prayers
In your sleep, you think your miserable life would finally cease and your age of
light that gives a sense of stillness, not of the grave, but of the kind
i. mother, the blue light harbours me for a while. the distance between razor-clasped fingers
night room. mosquitoes mimicking tones of the funeral. & i force my
Peer through Hubble’s binoculars: the indispensable dot suspended in dust, the harbour of life, giver
Memories, Like the cold ashes of harmattan Slumber upon the mind’s terrace In our silences
Leave something of sweetness and substance in the mouth of the world. — Anna Belle
I love my father for tellin’ me to take off the gloves ’cause everything he
I am of the tribe of reddened oil though bleached from years of smoking beneath