The handkerchief Aunty presses into my hand is white and crisp. It has the strong musty smell of old clothes. She says she got it in camp during the Holy Ghost service in August, that the Reverend personally anointed it. She repeats the word “personally”, staring at the heart-shaped birthmark on my nose. ‘Make sure […]

To Miscarry A Country


i ask that you return the dead, god, i ask that you turn the bullets toward the hands that shot into the crowd            in Fagba, a bullet tears open the stomach of a pregnant woman   i’d like to ask the drafting angel what it intends to do with the stillborn            […]