ISSUE 7 | JULY 2023 | TRANSITION ISSUE
The day your mother gave birth to
you was the day her life changed.
They said there is a door unclosed at
the terminal of our existence. Your
grandmother entered cheering of
what she would later die of, then
spun her life open for your mother’s
coming. There is a new wing in my
room. There is the parting sun
shredding the clouds for regime of
night. The fear of the dark will hurl
birds to different fields, & these
birds will make nest out the
emptiness of new things. I count my
body & something is missing. I soil
pumpkins & they outgrow the patch.
I watch harmattan give its body to
rain. My friends laugh at my
radicalism. Yomade says I break
anytime there is something holding
the length of me. I think the hand
against our door is a new language.
Outside, a tired bus is gossiping of
the road, & your father is spilled into
a far city of old kings rebelled by
their sons. I close my eyes & all I see
is an opening, all I see is a river
giving its journey to the next
Fatihah Quadri Eniola
Born on a Friday in December, Fatihah Quadri Eniola is a young Nigerian poet whose work has been featured in The West Trade Review, The Shore Poetry, Brittle Paper, Poetry Column NND and elsewhere. She is a nyctophobic and an active fellow on
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Photo by Artur Aldyrkhanov on Unsplash