Size / / /

Content warning:

Question: after conducting the statistics, a country was found in the teeth of the topmost trend on twitter. if in 2021, the country’s skin is occupied by the blood of its people and in 2022, its belly is occupied by their flesh:

a.  will the country complement their bodies with bones in 2023, if country intersects with (2021 ∪ 2022)? i.e., [country ∩ (2021 ∪ 2022)]'

b.  test [peace (p) = {} ∪ (2021 ∪ 2022)]

c.  [p ∪ (2021 ∪ 2022)] ∪ [inverse of (p) = {}]



let country represent the anatomy of its people that are always chased out of their bodies.

country = {blood, flesh, bones}

set 2021 = {blood}

set 2022 = {flesh}

a.  will the country complement their bodies with bones in 2023, if country intersects with (2021 ∪ 2022)? i.e., [country ∩ (2021 ∪ 2022)]'


to sing our bones from running out of its body,
we marrow more music than wa(te)r & learn the language of survival.

if set (2021 ∪ 2022) equal the amount of blood pulsing
underneath the flesh of bodies that were poured
out of their dreams. out of their country’s veins.

then, complement of country intersection (2021 ∪ 2022) = [{blood, flesh, bones} ∩ {blood, flesh}]' = bones

yes, our bones have learnt the alchemy of dancing with the moon.


b.  test [peace (p) = {} ∪ (2021 ∪ 2022)]

note: this morning, the faces of voices, of lost bodies
wept as headlines, searching for their families
& i understood that wa(te)r
does not wash the red tint off the scalp of a bleeding ocean.

p = {} i.e., there is no peace

therefore, [(p) = {} ∪ (2021 ∪ 2022)] = blood & flesh.

note: i seared light into my tongue before entering this poem—stop grief
from pleating out of my taste bud—but it drowned in the first line.
can you see how wa(te)r dims the stars from blooming?
last night, under the mango tree, my father told us to avoid some roads.
some roots. some rooms. & every time his mouth winds out a(void),
it folds into air like the strand of my lost uncle’s hair.
to breathe again, i relearn how to sharpen my lungs in the {}
the war has tossed peace into.


c.  [p ∪ (2021 ∪ 2022)] ∪ [inverse of (p) = {}]

let the inverse of empty be filled with the roses of our mother’s prayers.

let the inverse of void be the emancipation of our bodies from bullets flood.

let the inverse of p = {} birth a country where dreams aren’t conveyed on paper boats.

Zaynab Bobi, Frontier I, is a Nigerian poet and digital artist. She is a member of HCAF. Her poems have appeared and are forthcoming in FIYAH, Anomaly, West Trade Review, and elsewhere. She tweets @ZainabBobi.
Current Issue
17 Jun 2024

To fly is to deny death / as the body’s natural state
scrawled in the ashes of who I might have been
Ellie Mathieu can tell when the Big Easy arrives by the smell of its engine.
Wednesday: A Magical Girl Retires by Park Seolyeon, Translated by Anton Hur 
Issue 10 Jun 2024
Issue 9 Jun 2024
Phonetics of Draconic Languages 
A Tour of the Blue Palace 
A Tale of Moths and Home (of bones and breathing) (of extrinsic restrictive lung disease) 
By Salt, By Sea, By Light of Stars 
Critical Friends Episode 11: Boundaries in Genre 
Friday: The House that Horror Built by Christina Henry 
Friday: Utopia Beyond Capitalism in Contemporary Literature: A Commons Poetics by Raphael Kabo 
Issue 3 Jun 2024
Issue 27 May 2024
Issue 20 May 2024
Issue 13 May 2024
Issue 6 May 2024
Issue 29 Apr 2024
Issue 15 Apr 2024
By: Ana Hurtado
Art by: delila
Issue 8 Apr 2024
Load More