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POEM: 'Anchorage'

Updated: Nov 11, 2020

by Olúwádáre Pópóola

Graphic: Megan Daly

Because my grandfather's departed hands are still coffering fruits /

into the cacography of my mouth /

the moon walks 6 cubits away from the stars / soil blighted and looking for warmth / your salvation is in your blood /

leaves clapping soil raised into protests / of a body limping back into body.

By how we measure our grief / all our good is slung on the lower branches of yellowing paper /

exposing a dessicated thing /

bearing suchness with squeezed skies

like a mouth planted on legs / 

expecting the bulk of rain / 

sea unshackled into the pamphlets of hands / 

decoding god's message in excrescences / epitaphs collected in scrapings / a body unbridled and flooding / 

& a new cut on your bruised lips or is it your leg / is strumming a blessing.



Olúwádáre Pópóola is a 19-year old Nigerian poet, a student of Microbiology and a Sports Writer for a media company. He writes from a city named by rocks and longs to see the world without discrimination of any form. Learning the art of imagery, his poems are up/forthcoming on Mineral Lit. Magazine, Headline Poetry & Press, Feral: A Journal of Poetry & Art, Roadrunner Review, Lumiere Review and elsewhere. Follow him on Twitter


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