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ISSUE 24

  • Tade Akin Aina

    Tade Akin Aina

     
    (from the ongoing collection, The Wanderer’s Pulse)

    Dakar

    Here all the Signares of Saint Louis
    a home true, theirs all theirs, finally found.
    Stomping their swagger to rhythms natural
    that with silver-blue swirling sea waves, winds
    dry … Read the whole text

  • Ajibola Tolase

    Ajibola Tolase

     

    Upon meeting a Girl in Baga

    You are the relic of a city.
    I learnt the history of your body
    threading the city borders.

    You say stories are what we make of living,
    I found yours in the language … Read the whole text

  • Uchechukwu Peter Umezurike

    Uchechukwu Peter Umezurike

     

    Bat

    I’m in the kitchen scrubbing the insides of a kettle when I hear Pa say, Bia nwoke. I dash into the parlour while Ma goes on humming over the pot of egusi soup she is preparing. Each time … Read the whole text

  • John Sainsbury

    John Sainsbury

     

    Lord Rochester is Dying:  A Comedy

    Act I Scene 2. 

    Three weeks later. Tower Hill, Tower of London in background. “Bendo” is on a platform, and when he raises and stretches his arms, the image is suggestive of Christ … Read the whole text

  • Benjamin Bandosz

    Benjamin Bandosz

     
    Toronto Haunting

    You really don’t know if you’re being haunted until you stare a ghost straight in the face. Everything becomes pretty clear at that point. Beforehand, it’s just a series of weird coincidences, shadows stalking you while you … Read the whole text

  • Lily Iona MacKenzie

    Lily Iona MacKenzie

     

    My Home and Native Plant 

    I’m not your garden variety Canadian. I don’t own a Hudson’s Bay blanket. I no longer attend hockey games. I’ve stopped being overly nice and polite. And I gave up my citizenship when I … Read the whole text

  • Halima Aliyu

    Halima Aliyu

    Broken

    I cannot remember when we stopped touching each other.  It began when mother left with a gash on her head. And older sister could not wear mother’s shoes. Laughter ran away from our mouths and the smell of cocoa … Read the whole text

  • Don McLellan

    Don McLellan

     

    Black Market  

    They kicked in my door at three in the morning, four goons wearing camouflage overalls and balaclavas. I was flattered such a force was thought necessary to subdue me, but I would have complied had they called … Read the whole text

  • Richard Risemberg

    Richard Risemberg

     

    The River 

    He stood in the rain, looking back along a quaintly curving street of houses half-hidden by trees and vines. He’d grabbed a raincoat and a hat before going outside, but rain dripped from the hem of his … Read the whole text

  • Habib Mohana

    Habib Mohana

     

    Stamping The Dead

    It was an unwritten law of the land that no dead person was to be buried until his left buttock was properly stamped with the royal seal by the officials in the capital. Those who buried … Read the whole text

In This Issue