The sun burns brightest on the morning after a night-time rainstorm. That Thursday in June, when my partner and I awoke to find our Surulere apartment windows washed clean by rain, with the glass slats sparkling in the sunlight and the floor tiles as dry as an ark’s insides, we decided to celebrate our good …
Little Inhabitants The poet wakes in the middle of the night to find that his room, Barely enough for his lean body, is a megacity for the little Inhabitants. Roaches are going and coming, each one with A different sense of urgency, some slow as clumps of dew, Others civil servants in love with the …
