Very soon, I will embrace my wife again as a farmer embraces the rainy season, or, like a groom embraces his new bride. I will be drenched in water. A sorrow–hidden moment it will be, just like January 1st, 2005. That was the last day I saw her heavy dimples and swollen abdomen.
Continue reading “Riverbed Reunion by Abiodun Usman”
- To say I love you is to say you have flooded
my knee with rain
: is to say the viscosity of my synovial fluid
has been adulterated & I have lost anchorage
Continue reading “Shore by Abdulbaseet Yusuff”
Ridges in my fingernails––
worrisome trenches, etchings that
presage diseases and loss, niches where
suspicion insinuates itself. Instead I summon:
ridges of my knuckles, thumb-tucked fists,
taut brown skin tallowed over the bone
as I brace to take on the icy lake,
to punch the water’s skin;
Continue reading “Summoning by Laurie Koensgen”
Son of my favorite aunt,
I greet you from above the waters;
Waving but not drowning.
Continue reading “‘Nceba, mzala’ by Perfect Hlongwane”
I lie on the bottom of the pool, my back resting lightly on the rough, cool marbelite; staring motionless up at the surface of the water. Four feet of water separates me from fresh, breathable air.
Continue reading “Fear Thyself by Stephen Embleton”
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 