Poetry

Of Communion and Goodbye: Two Travel Poems by Tọ́pẹ́-ẸniỌbańkẹ́ Adégòkè

The metal weevils are always farting 
across the sky with silent noise; 
in another moment, their filth 
will be dissolved by a sieve – 
who is the grandmother who sifts the sky 
of the pollution the way my grandmother 
sifted old yam flour for beetles and particles? 

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