Firstly I stopped dreaming about you
Then I stopped saying your name in public
I stopped looking at all our pictures
Although it hurt I stopped texting you
I stopped writing you letters
I stopped listening to any music
I even stopped wearing blue clothes
I stopped following anyone that knew you on social media
At a point I almost stopped living
Because I had stopped caring
Because I had started crying for no reason
I started wishing that you would come back
Then I started realising that you would never come back
I then started to stop loving you
And now I have stopped loving you
BY ABIGAIL GEORGE
(for my sister)
The day has
a mothlike quality to it. I make a cup of tea (always for one). Boil the
water in the
microwave oven while
make way for new poems. Once, I lived in grassroots country. Rural
(Boarding school). Slowly
my flesh is emptying out. Winter making way for spring’s milky sweetness,
summer’s pleasure and
waves of heat, autumn’s gift.
Slowly, I climb back
into their world. Standing in the sun sipping my cup of tea for one.
I sit and watch the
afternoon warming the page in front of me.
BY CECILY CAMARA
I float through my kind of house
late at night.
I eat exotic foods
which does nothing for my cholesterol.
I travel to places of interest to me
where I meet a stinking rich, very
old man who gives me the time of my life.
In return I promise to spoil him to death.
That’s without even getting out of bed.
BY RAPHAEL D’ABDON
some one night stands
begin with a glance