LitPub

I’d always loved writing, and curating them, and interrogating those who produce them. It’s a life-affirming thing. We are made by stories, so listening to others tell theirs or showing us how they get to set them down, or doing so myself, is a delightful experience. Has always been. From 2009, I had a travel […]

  Words, words, words You failed me when I needed you the most You vagabond!   I (For them at the Murambi genocide memorial site in Rwanda)   Ploughed from the mass graves of History Exhibits on the pyre of empty testaments Equestrians of Trauma Signifiers of perpetual suffering Icons of silence, of the never-speech: […]

Olongo is the orange-cheeked waxbill, small enough to be missed in a scene, but loud enough to be noticed wherever it is perched. The name had stuck since we first suggested it as the cover for our new floor on the Brick House, a collective of writers and journalists. You are welcome to our launch. […]

Someday I’ll love Kwaku Kyereh after Claire Schwartz  / after Ocean Vuong   Kwaku, you have loved—& you have been loved, where the skin did not break is where it blackens.   Give thanks, Kwaku—give thanks, to the trees & the wind that gives them rhythm—to the   birds that learn to make a home […]

Forgive me this Grace “in Italy a lot of migrants beg for moneyfor food, on the street” — Lucky I remember your face, veteranof the Mediterranean, of sea crossings,veteran of boats. I listen in stillness. I do not say to you, my guilt is America.I listen to you talk of shurroty, the act of beggingfor […]