Hello After Anthony M. Kwavah When a poem finds me in the midst of people, I bend my body to trap it and scrape its surface. I go with a few words—anything enough to exchange pleasantries. To find its delight. To let her know me. When I bend in my welcome, I give her my hand, like paying off a public transport fare, and I ask, How far can you take me? She smiles rather shyly, like the sun using clouds as her cover. What gives her light away must be the wind. I allow myself to

Shape shifter  This would be the first time I’m saying that every opposing side knows their rights and has their lefts stashed in courage. Just like people at the end of the war will see six out of nine, it’s the same way no one can convince the others that it is not nine they are seeing. I’m writing from the middle of disagreements, understanding that I can never be in the shoes of anyone or point fingers at their shortcomings.  In class, I argued for the people who upheld