Poet Wrestling with Stone Star Horse | Rosebud Ben-Oni
In Spacehorse you do not have to be stone. You’ve buried a horse one too many to be set in stone. Others bury to transform. The most hopeful don’t. They leave the reins you need to let go. I won’t erase our tracks. Soft ground like stone shuffles. Like why wolves knot. Like running won’t […]
Two Poems | Uchechukwu Peter Umezurike
Summer is gone with its conceit and cheer open arms and clear laughter desire on squirrel feet and the gooseflesh of thrill the bloom behind oaks and sumacs turns the sky into butter slivered with plums cherries and oranges to be young and labile hear nothing urgent in the earth’s groan what’s gone mad in the […]
The Forgotten Scientist: The Story of Saul Sithole | Lorato Trok
Saul Sithole started working at the museum in Pretoria on 11 November 1928. It is said that he started out as a cleaner. Saul proudly recalled helping to mount the elephant skeleton that has long been displayed at the entrance of the museum during his first year there. Sithole’s professional life became specialised around birds […]
- Poet Wrestling with Stone Star Horse | Rosebud Ben-Oni
- Two Poems | Uchechukwu Peter Umezurike
- The Forgotten Scientist: The Story of Saul Sithole | Lorato Trok
- Four Poems | Ernest O. Ògúnyẹmí
- On The Feminine & The Oracular | Itiola Jones
Four Poems | Ernest O. Ògúnyẹmí
elegy the animal is broken open like dried palmnut, beads of blood litter the ground like dew drops. like struck guitar strings, my insides quiver for the cocoon of my mother’s embrace, for the after-rain smell of her body. Lord, what the fuck am I not doing right? what manna did I store up? the […]
On The Feminine & The Oracular | Itiola Jones
As the story has been told to me, I come from three generations of pastors and prophets, and in this way, the prophetic has always been in my blood. I was raised in the Celestial Church of Christ, a Christian denomination founded in Benin City, where my mother’s family is from. In every house I’ve […]
The Kindly Ones | Maya Surya Pillay
I like to tell my psychiatrist about my bad dreams. I lay out the details for her: corpses in bed next to me, gouts of blood pouring from my vagina, women hanging by their necks from the rafters. I tell her how I wake in the night, shaking and sweating, and often close my eyes […]
