I do not know whether to say that Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie saved me or to ascribe it to God as we always do in Nigeria. When we studied so hard and passed an exam, we say it was God who did it…It is popular in Nigeria for Nigerian hospitals to display on their signboards: We take care, but only God heals.
Category: literature
ESSAY | Why Bother with the Books? – Mia Cresswell-Melstrøm
Sipping on our black coffee, my grandad and I sit together in his living room every morning. We drift between comfortable silence, where I return to my book, he returns to his paper, and short bursts of conversation. A new restaurant is opening in town, he says. I called the bank earlier, I say. What time do you start work, he asks. Yes, I will remember my umbrella, I respond.
Book Review: House of Day, House of Night by Olga Tokarczuk, translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones – Arbnora Selmani
“We are prompted to savour each word, carefully probing between our teeth to discover new morsels of meaning.”
POETRY IN TRANSLATION – Bartosz Konstrat, tr. Dawid Mobolaji
But from time to time it does exist. Something like a stray lash under the eyelid
trying to catch its last breath.
TWO POEMS – Catherine Redford
The air is suddenly sweet-smoked and humming,
and I’m back in the incense-wreathed
Lanes of 90s Brighton
TWO POEMS – Billie Manning
The plane goes to the gym every morning
before work and holds that plank.
ONE POEM – Mark Saunders
his Superkings fan over
a firm hand grip in sunburst
gilding the bonfire
cherry red
ONE POEM – Mel McMahon
As if by sticking up taut yellow tape
They could control the space
Like some kind of boxing match
Where a ring-side bell
Could take a firm grip of time
THREE POEMS – Liv Aldridge
The tingle of feet in an ice
cold bed is finally enough to get me out
at dusk, all shabby chic
TWO POEMS – Rachel Bruce
Gravity balances on my shoulders,
tosses back the balls while I wait
for their sandy pop in my palms.
I get lighter by the day.
TWO POEMS – Salvatore Difalco
You reached for the branch
without looking at me as I
signalled you to back away,
to veer away from the tree,
where a snake in full makeup
had hit its mark, awaiting a cue.
FLASH FICTION — Beth Morrow
We’re hit with a waft of espresso. The thunder of grinding coffee beans. The high-pitched hiss of steamed milk. Our wish is granted.
