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Literature Text
in a world of locks
and a world of children,
we have all learned to listen at doors.
the every-same overheard question
leaving its footprint on a dirty bedroom floor:
how many rebirths are we made of?
i refused to answer
when an eye met mine at the keyhole
and fled to scratch out revelations in the dust.
and each new word
was another plea for each old word
to mean something more.
cold water splashed on my face,
city sun crashing its earthquake way
along an unlined eyelash.
liberation.
for every spark of july
that drifted 'cross your hands,
a corresponding puzzle
made itself known
in blanketed goosebumps on my arms.
"goodnight," i said quietly,
and music poured and sifted
through air currents too quick to notice.
and a world of children,
we have all learned to listen at doors.
the every-same overheard question
leaving its footprint on a dirty bedroom floor:
how many rebirths are we made of?
i refused to answer
when an eye met mine at the keyhole
and fled to scratch out revelations in the dust.
and each new word
was another plea for each old word
to mean something more.
cold water splashed on my face,
city sun crashing its earthquake way
along an unlined eyelash.
liberation.
for every spark of july
that drifted 'cross your hands,
a corresponding puzzle
made itself known
in blanketed goosebumps on my arms.
"goodnight," i said quietly,
and music poured and sifted
through air currents too quick to notice.
Literature
Ndinonzi
My name is Rufaro. I'm turning nine soon. I like going to school, even though I have to walk a long time to get there, because I can meet my friends. Some of them are from other villages, and I wouldn't see them if I didn't go. I like some of my teachers. Ms Machegutu is very nice. She says I'm a good pupil, and maybe I can go to high school if my grades are good. I don't think I will, Baba doesn't make enough money. He gets drunk very often, Amai says it's because times are hard. I don't understand. Times have always been hard.
My name is Tendai. I'm 22. I've been living in the capital for 4 years now. Even though I have my A-levels, it's h
Literature
breaking up with the day
of nights when we eloped
trodden, the tarmac lax
metropolis skyline looming,
an entire graveyard
of sleeping transmissions,
bricks and beggars
and boulevards littered
bedridden with nap.
we roved the docks,
piers twisted in lumber
moaning, creaking, flexing
with the sea's insomnia
and us overlooking
its abysmal waters.
I stare her heaving bosom
as she reaches my
bony knuckles, clutches
and turns to me
with the full moon in her face,
she says,
Im late.
and I know that the
blood red
sunrise will not be coming up
this morning.
Literature
Out of Control
It's 6:46 and thirty-one seconds when the doorbell rings. My mom runs to answer it.
"Hi, Michelle!" I hear my mom call. It's my sister. She left her college friends to have dinner with us tonight.
I have four minutes before I can go out and greet her. I can only walk through doors when the number of minutes is divisible by five. 6:46 and fifty-nine seconds. Not happening.
It's the killer of what could be an okay life. I'm late for class all the time when I'm at school. A teacher will let me out at 1:50 exactly. I walk through the hallways in a straight line, starting with my right foot, ending with my left. I reach the door,
Suggested Collections
slow down. this night's a perfect shade of dark blue. have you ever been alone in a crowded room when i'm with you? i said the world could be burning down.
-jack's mannequin
-jack's mannequin
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