your forehead a smokescreen of curiosity / vermillion full of questions / this poem a manual / making up my own religion / stringnzm / cherry blossoms lose their flowers / in the tender dance of growing / from a distance heaven / butterflies flutter & watch me play like string orchestra / my mother perches on a subatomic chair / with her òfii fabrics / her eyes / multicolor of orisons / her smile / areola of things meant to blossom / a woman perambulates / a child clinging on her back / as hope to her vertebral column / she asks for a seat / dad will not farm dissatisfaction this time / some little boys in their teen / vault over fences & blame a conductor for holding their change / sun sets like bruise fading into night / we watch grandmas stroll with their àpótí & àtùpà / dust settles an eye level away / like unspoken prayers in beliver's chest waiting for amin / police wallet the song darting over the lawn / wave their hands & / pretend to have left / a couple sit / so close that it' s hard for ant to butt in / meek everywhere / sign of angels among us / i perform ablution / inwardly / i weave constellation into my hairs / braiding stories incognito / grievances are first shapes i could mold with just a string / the left curve of the string / a memory held against the sky of concealment / the horizontal line in the left corner / a garden / big enough to bivouac a little girl / & her oversized griefs / the horizontal line of the right corner / depicts / her mother's prayers open up like delicate flowers / searching for the first rays of dawn / the right curve of the string / are open wounds that do not paint a man of pride / from the upper tooth of the first string / the samaras in the mountain of sanctuary / like gardens harboring hidden blades / towards her mother in the mouth of war / the lower tooth of the string / returns her to her mother's bequest / as though to say / child / never be cowered / eventually dawn arrives / follows winter's breath / follows flowers that sprout her mother's bequest / from her chest / & make them a survival wing that reaches for starlight/

S. Abdulwasi’h is a Nigerian introverted poet, essayist, and graphics designer. He’s a member of Oyongo Collective. He writes from Ilorin, a city he fondly describes as “a breath from heaven.” A monotheist, he serves as Poetry Editor at Words-Empire Magazine. He authored the shortlisted chapbook Life, An Objet D’art and won the 2024 Prose Purple Writing Competition (Poetry category). His works have appeared or are forthcoming in Bare Hill Review, Pictura Journal, Carolina Muse, & others. Website