July & August 2020
Vol V No IV
Not your ordinary poetry magazine!
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Published bi-monthly
African Poetry with editor Vera Ignatowitsch
Secret Life
First the moon completes her cycle in silence
Meaning it is darker on most days than not
And then the tasteless mornings
Three full moons later
The plastic thing draws two lines across itself
But I’ve been told it can be erroneous
Now my favorite jeans do not fit
No, my only pair of jeans do not fit
But maybe it is that extra burger at dinner
The sixth month is a blaring siren
A world loud with heartbeat inside me
A little one declaring second trimester over
Inside me, a whole other being takes form
Alerts me in no obvious ways
But stays nonetheless
Growing
Becoming
Alive
Busamoya Phodiso Modirwa is a Motswana poet with works published on Jalada Africa: Bodies, Praxis Online Magazine, Ake Review, Kalahari Review, and elsewhere. She is a recipient of the Botswana President’s Award — Contemporary Poetry 2016.
Parting ritual
When father died, they shaved my mother’s head to the scalp,
then they forced her to bathe with the algae-green water
gathered from rinsing father’s corpse.
Six yards of white cloth sewn into a mourning gown,
mother wore a smile, it was more lethal than a frown.
They forced her to eat, they said she will need strength,
strength to look the dead in the eyes and confess to lies,
lies that she ate her husband and his other children.
Hers was a feast of worms, and though sadness filled her stomach,
she struggled to eat the maggots
wriggling from the ears, eyes, mouth and orifices of delayed justice.
They let her walk the meadows on barefoot,
father’s grave had been dug at the end of the groove.
They claim she crossed the thin line between apples and snakes,
so at the nodal where two positions meet, she will light seven candles,
then circle the grave with chalk.
For 90-days, they confined her to a room, the ‘other room’,
where every limp comes to pose as a patriot,
where every screamer thinks himself a prophet,
and every crook claims that he is a statesman.
But after all the lechers and mourners go home,
my mother will rise and make love to silence.
First published in Rattle.
Soonest Nathaniel is a poet and spoken word artist. He is the author of Teaching My Father How To Impregnate Women. His poems appear or are forthcoming in Rattle, Praxis, Raven Chronicles, Saraba Magazine, Loudthotz, Reverbnation, Sentinel Nigeria Magazine, and many more.
The Golden Candle
Flickering yet burning bright
Green breath, the smell of mint
This wicked wind will try in vain
To blow you out
On the other side of the street
Impatient hands are waiting
To hold you burning bright
This wicked wind will try in vain
To blow you out
Spreading
HIV and swine flu
Distorting economies
Turning brother on brother
Heating the skin of our mother earth
This wicked wind will try in vain
Because stone men and women
With unyielding faith
Are busy building
A gigantic shield.
First published in Kilimanjaro on my Lap.
Epiphanie Mukasano is originally from Rwanda where she was a teacher. She has a Master’s degree in English Literature and now lives as a refugee in Cape Town. Her poems and stories have appeared in various publications.
There It Goes
Mapenzi Si Shurua, Huja Yakaja
The night you leave, the sky breaks out
in stars. They burn like open sores.
The acacia, scarred from private wars,
still has leaves.
I am not radical in my sorrow.
What has come before,
that which has been handed down—
these are my only methods.
I feel what I feel should be felt.
I say nothing new, nothing different.
My concerns are as they were before:
is the tea too cold to drink?
From Clay Plates: Broken Records of Kiswahili Proverbs.
Alexis Teyie is a Kenyan writer and feminist. Her poetry, short fiction, and other writing has been published in many journals. She recently coauthored a children’s book, Shortcut. She is a poetry editor with Enkare Review.
Under the blank canvas
Anytime I like to talk about love on the racket
I hate to think of this very serve
An ace that died with me in the skull.
When in doubt
I strangle the umpire by the collar
Looking for ways to bring him to my situation
And if he’s not dying, he cannot live again,
Fair play!
But―
Love is not fair!
Upholding the essence of fidelity
Man can be perfect someday
But days of lovers do not come new
When two arms refuse to swing together
How it irks
Withstanding . . .
If I’m not searching for my tennis racket
Or sketching shapes of my tears
I have another way to live
I wear my best color
And try to find it in the rainbow.
Because I don’t find black
I measure a handful of painkillers
To heal the moment
That cannot heal naturally with me.
​
First published in Nathanda Review.
Gabriel Awuah Mainoo is the author of 60 Aces of Haiku and Chicken Wings at the Altar. He serves as project manager to Ghana Writes Journal and creative editor to WGM Magazine. His work is widely published in journals and magazines.
![Africa-ritual-activity-leo-moko-unsplash](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/176fed_8c2810e462e74222995b8925c5f76021~mv2_d_3456_4816_s_4_2.jpg/v1/fill/w_367,h_511,al_c,q_80,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_auto/Africa-ritual-activity-leo-moko-unsplash.jpg)
The Night Hawk
To whom shall I tell my tale of woes?
who shall sing with me
my song of oblivion
the evil that descended hearth-stead,
in the tail of a winter night,
swooped upon us like a bald eagle,
as vicious as a hungry wolf,
raped my mothers and their daughters,
and planted in them his abomination.
To whom shall I tell my shame?
The unthinkable events of that night
Left behind unthinkable souvenirs.
Now, my mothers’ bellies are swollen with abominations.
To whom shall I tell my fathers’ dilemmas?
My fathers now accept congratulations for another man’s evil.
What other option do they have anyway?
I have tried running away,
but I still hear the echoes of my imagination—
the penury of my mothers’ voices,
giving birth to abominations.
Running won’t cleanse my roots of the abominations.
But where do I begin?
Everywhere pongs of abomination.
How do I begin?
When my mothers even love the abominations?
When do I begin?
Maybe when the sun trades shifts with the moon?
I cry like a mother hen.
The night hawk has whisked my offspring.
I do not cry so the evil one would release his clench.
I’m only crying so the world would hear my voice.
Darlington Chukwunyere is a Nigerian screenwriter and poet. He moved from Owerri to Lagos in 2016 when he began his professional literary journey. He co-wrote Gold Dust Ikenga which premiered in London in 2017 by Silver Achugamonye’s UK-based Silver-Globe Sines.
![fire-2777580__340.jpg](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/176fed_1d838d7a00d949a08861595049fba9ef~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_377,h_251,al_c,q_80,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_auto/fire-2777580__340.jpg)
Photo by Leo Moko, Unsplash