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.
Blog
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.
ubuntu | a poem by Nket Godwin
my matchbox world gives my family light from my moon
for we are soluble in this water of being