Size / / /

Content warning:


This is the ground I slithered from —
Idemili, pillar of seas, mighty water.

A serpent wraps around my village
It coils and it coils, taut.
And we hear the call,
Mother of our mothers,
Isi Iyi, a fountain.
Ọgbaaghara, an upheaval.

A wildness folds beneath my child’s head,
it turns and it layers, gently.
Nabata ya, bụọ ya abụ,
ọ bụ ndị ikwu gị bịa ịhụ nwa ha,
Welcome it, sing to it,
it is your kin come to see their child.

This is what my mother says.

This is how I killed a god,
I took of myself and hacked it to pieces.

My ancestors hang on my neck.
Ha konyere ha, enweghị ndụ, ajị anụ,
They dangle, lifeless, a pelt.
I have slain my mother,
and all her mothers,
and all my children,
and all their children.

Ị ga-asachapụ unyi, you must cleanse
Ị ga-emerịrị mmehie, you must atone.

I am a spirit in a market square coming unfettered.
Look down,
M na-amalite n'ụkwụ gị,
I begin at your feet.

 

 

[Editor’s Note: Publication of this poem was made possible by a gift from Julia Rios during our annual Kickstarter.]



Somto Ihezue is a Nigerian–Igbo writer. His works have appeared and are forthcoming in Tor: Africa Risen Anthology, Fireside, POETRY Magazine, Podcastle, Escape Pod, Cossmass Infinities, Flash Fiction Online, Africa In Dialogue, OnSpec, Omenana, and others. He is an editor with Android Press, and an associate editor with Apex Magazine and Cast of Wonders. Follow him on Twitter @somto_Ihezue or visit his website.
Current Issue
18 Mar 2024

Strange Horizons
We are very happy to welcome Dante Luiz as a new fiction editor on the team! Dante is a Ignyte Award winning author, and has been with Strange Horizons working as an Art Director for the past several years. We’re stoked to bring him on to the fiction side and have him bring his wonderful insight and skill to the fiction team.
Day in and day out, the rough waters of the Pacific slam themselves against the protrusion of sandstone the locals refer to as Morro Rock. White streaks of bird shit bleed down the rock, a testament to the rare birds of prey that nest in its pocked face overlooking the bay.
in my defence, juggling biological and artificial, i tripped over my shoelace, and spilled my lungs empty of the innocence that was, before guilt.
the birds, / who carry with them / the many names of the dead
Wednesday: Overlap: The Lives of a Former Time Jumper by N. Joseph Glass 
Issue 11 Mar 2024
Issue 4 Mar 2024
Issue 26 Feb 2024
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
Load More
%d bloggers like this: