Tag Archives: Othuke Umukoro

coming out in no particular order

the night undresses, you put a memory in your mouth, chew casually, thinking about wars, about their littleness: of course you were born with one sitting loud in your stomach, your body (the boys drowning in him) is a catalog … Continue reading

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This town; a breathing crocodile, is a sad town…

“Oh, God! That bread should be so dear and flesh and blood so cheap!”                                     Thomas Hood This town; a breathing crocodile, is a sad town with bombs that fall like rain & moons that hoard smiles but frown at all … Continue reading

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My grandfather on a sandglass

They walked this path: two hands holding sunlight. The thistles glared at him yesterday. How easily the days in the past laugh: days wrapped in her straying strands; days the rainbow bent to whisper their names; days of light. *** … Continue reading

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Moon

Moon knows the secrets of earth wind fire water metal Moon never grows grey, like men. Moon is a delivery man— Moon is a pathway— Whichever version of the metaphor you choose, the other side of everything walks round your … Continue reading

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what the little girl meant to say when the long-haired journalist asked: where are you from?

anywhere hope wears a crown of loss, jesus wept is an exodus, a silhouette poem finding the square root of sound in deflection, memory is a cheat code; anywhere bodies litter the streets like decamped mango leaves— compressed into a … Continue reading

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The man who wrote bad poetry

While walking by a cemetery one cold-biting evening I saw an epitaph on a tombstone that read: To the man who wrote bad poetry—a life: unapologetic. Because imagining was a price I could afford, I stood there for some time; … Continue reading

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The dilemma of a poem

I could write about him bespectacled in his study; damascened with un-editable memories; the world quietly strapped on his back; his fingers caressing the black & white keys of the old piano like a lover’s touch; his voice soaring through … Continue reading

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a poem you read from right to left

country a in flowers for ] [ knife a is love in falling where night last news the on tyre pleading a whorled mob a boy black a of neck the round as watched i eyes filigreed his like fright … Continue reading

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The federal constitution

of ghosts, 9102 as amended stipulates that a ghost is a map. Section 7 (e) says familiar ghosts are hard to name; some are adjectives trying to modify what could have been; most are conjunctions of things that gnaw at … Continue reading

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we are water

You can’t trust water: even a straight stick turns crooked in it.—W. C. Fields even Jesus did he turned her if water could our dead —silent water. & the shape of halved by the this thing that same thing that … Continue reading

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