“I’m sorry.” It was a simple statement, filled with honesty and sadness, but truth was evident in the man’s voice . . .
The rain stops now and I shake my head to fling the last drop off my big straw hat. It have a freezing trickle of water running down my arm, a silver ball escaping down to the tip of my finger. Forest rain does be like that: cold in the humidity, shining like hell when the light touch it . . .
At night you lie awake, kept up by the sounds of running feet and children’s eerie laughter . . .
Featured: Black Interest
- Song for Night
- Scars of the Soul Are Why Kids Wear Bandages When They Don’t Have Bruises
- The Girl with the Golden Shoes
- New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (Nne)
- Kingston Noir (Jamaica)
- Mr. Loverman
- Hadriana in All My Dreams
- Eight New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set
- Caribbean Debuts Digit
- Among the Bloodpeople: Politics & Flesh
- New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (Tatu)