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remember: close
to the trail I find
a song wide enough
to cover my
body: we have a fire
going in the stove, she said
and plenty of wood
—keep the purple
days in a scrapbook, open
the sky the stars open
your song wide
enough to
cover your body: re
member

we will all be buried
in a garden, my sister said—& a butterfly
will travel with silence, from
rose to queens of the
night, from cup to
cry to a lake that
takes in red
leaves & day
light
—we all
meet in
our voices
behind the garden, she
wrote in the sky



David Ishaya Osu was born in Nigeria in 1991. His poetry has appeared in Poetry Wales, Transition, Vinyl, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, New Coin Poetry, and The Bombay Review, among others. He is a board member of Babishai Niwe Poetry Foundation, and he has received a Pushcart Prize nomination. David is currently the poetry editor of Panorama: The Journal of Intelligent Travel, and is at work on his debut poetry book.
Current Issue
21 Nov 2022

As far back as I could remember, Oma warned me about the bats. She said they would eat me if they found me exposed at night. But I knew the green light of the moon would protect me, even when I was still smaller than Oma.
The truth is: / she does not have to bend into a ceramic plate to carry us beautifully, & my father / isn't the hand that will break her.
the rattle of the rails, the shuffling-muttering of hundreds of passengers nestled in the one long limb of you
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