Somehow, I’m tired. I don’t even want to prove anyone right or wrong anymore. A simple step in front of another took me out of the chair of boredom and desperation, and straight through the doors onto the sunny passage.
BARBS ARE BARED | a short story by Reginald C. Ofodile
Ehimhen caught himself warming to Oche, even as part of him disliked the man for having dropped what he, Ehimhen, considered Oche’s proper Nigerian identity.
WE ARE MANY | a short story by Ubong Johnson
My uncle writes my name on my forehead with white chalk. Beneath it, he writes my father’s name but crosses it with a single line. I stare at my face in the mirror and release a held breath.
THE EXORCIST | a short story by Matthew K Chikono
You don’t answer. Either way, you were going to get hit again in the face. You look at your father with a plea on your face. He looks more scared than you. The man in the huge garment is in control now.
UNNAMED | a poem by Roy Duffield
my matchbox world gives my family light from my moon
for we are soluble in this water of being
CROSSWORD, OR ODE TO A MAN’S IDENTITY | a poem by Sunday T. Saheed
the stars crawled what remains of
their twinkles to the cranium of this
poem, where a hand pokes a finger
THE OFFING| a poem by Prosper Ifeanyi
When a black
boy does it—it’s someone did it. When ‘nother does,
it’s he did it.
i’ve heard that a native name is a long string | a poem by Glorious Kate Akpegah
sometimes it lies quietly, brooding over the episode of life that hatched you.
THERE’S A GHOST IN THE MIRROR | a poem by Olafisoye-Oragbade Oluwatosin David
a book of me knows me better,
when i become today’s yesterday,
A POEM IS A GESTURE TOWARDS HOME | a poem by Olumide Manuel
a home is either the end of the journey
or all the places I’m coming from.