We say “take me to the river”but what the river wants is the body of a stonethe kind of stillness that can be worn.It runs from its destructive natureand we run to its healing waters. What the mouth wants is wetnessa torrent of forgivenessto baptise flesh with abandon. We sing of the rivers of Babylonand…
Roberta Turkson – Robbie Ajjuah Fantini
Roberta Turkson’s career in poetry started in 2011, as a way to drive the pain off her chest, after failing to fulfil the fondest dream of having her own traditional Ghanaian restaurant in Nashville. “With lots of time on my hands and pain in my heart, I took to writing which turned out to be…
My younger sister (How these things go)
She is the size of my palm the day I first see herwrithing in white slime, hair slicked backlike wet maize tassels on her head For a few weeks her skin shedsand we joke about how muchthe chunks of dead skinon the soft spot of her head, weigh When she clocks 18 she is a…
Mooncycles
My heart is broken fragments disintegrate into sand laid upon a beautiful beach. As my moon creates tidal waves to wash me away. What once intertwined between my licorice laced thighs? Now matted and sharp thorns grow there, where my love once lay to blossom. I am rotten. Heart wrenched like torn ligaments on strange…
Circle of women
Your head is a hiveyou are not sure you will survive.Women form a circle around youIn their eyes, your stories flow like The Nile.They collect themand hand you the cup. Go aheadthey saybut you hesitate. It’s okaythey sayand you receive. You raise the cup to your lipsand pass…
Unmarried
Mama said I atemy husbands.Seasoned themwith my saltyattitude andboiled them ina black pot onthe night of thewaning moon. She claims thatmy saggy beastsare an attestationto my disgraceas a womanand my mortarisn’t fit forpounding groundnuts. My body isa fictional tale.She claims thatI’m not fitto lay on the groundthat holds thesemen of myancestors.My complaintsunder the sunare equivalentto…
Soul Approval
I’m here to tell you a story about a woman who hated herself Not because she was poor or ugly Not because she was orphaned or homeless But she just did And I’m here to tell you a story about a man who hated his life He dreaded every moment of it Woke up each…
I Am
I am incapable of feeling justified I search for meaning in things that do not mean much to me I am incapable of loving myself I am unknown That feeling That feeling is unknown to me I begin to question everything I think I feel I question my motives My algorithm My biometric makeup The…
The sun e sons of Africa
They come here with empty faces Looking for the sun The equatorial sun rays hit their eyes, They blink and find the son, Poised, smiling at their wallets With a hot, hard, black, cocked gun. There is no argument to be had with such a gun between your legs. Between sips of badly brewed, black,…