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all the men I love are grasses, stubborn
things that grow beyond of time. I take
them to my city and my city, a large
water. One hand against the strand, the
other pushing back the flood. Sometimes
I say swim, say that is the only path
through water & life but the men, they
end inside of me.

Born on a Friday in December, Fatihah Quadri Eniola is a young Nigerian poet whose work has been featured in Torch Literary Arts, Blue Marble Review, The West Trade Review, Agbowo, The Shore Poetry, and elsewhere. She is a nyctophobic gathering experience in law in the University of Ibadan.
Current Issue
26 Feb 2024

I can’t say any of this to the man next to me because he is wearing a tie
Language blasts through the malicious intentions and blows them to ash. Language rises triumphant over fangs and claws. Language, in other words, is presented as something more than a medium for communication. Language, regardless of how it is purposed, must be recognized as a weapon.
verb 4 [C] to constantly be at war, spill your blood and drink. to faint and revive yourself. to brag of your scars.
Wednesday: The Body Problem by Margaret Wack 
Issue 19 Feb 2024
Issue 12 Feb 2024
Issue 5 Feb 2024
Issue 29 Jan 2024
Issue 15 Jan 2024
Issue 8 Jan 2024
Issue 1 Jan 2024
Issue 18 Dec 2023
Issue 11 Dec 2023
Issue 4 Dec 2023
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