When the Killing Ends
someone tell me please: / what will Gaza look like / when the killing ends?
Bones Beneath the Plow
Today perhaps you breathed in the DNA of Nagasaki,/ washed off from dust from Dachau with Soweto’s tears, / picked up echoes from a dark corner of Santiago.
Albert Ayler’s Vision
And why does it always have to be white? / A white god with a white beard dressed / in white (never mind the poor souls / taught to run the other way whenever / they saw men in white robes)
A Post-Apartheid Education for Girls
In school we learnt a great deal about Voortrekkers and spear formations, but we never learnt about what Black men went through during Apartheid, and how they left behind women who raised children in poverty and despair — alone.
Desi
Rain splattered across the window pane. It thwacked hard as a sheen shrouded the glass. Mensa peered across at the dense foliage dripping outside with August globules, leaf blades ripe with gossamer as lightning flashed.
O!
out of the fifth floor window of her El-Biar flat from where she had / watched the Algerian People’s Army open fire on students / journalist Josie jumped
My Passport Photo
I like my passport photos best. My ID card and driver’s license are nothing to me but official certificates of identification. But my passports are permits. Permits for leaving! I know this by experience that any permit to leave is a blessing to me.
Pushcart Prize Nominations 2023
Announcing the Decolonial Passage Pushcart Prize nominees for 2023.
Water Dancing
Today we are hyper-focused on our hair because our hair has a history in enslavement, oppression, rejection, and classism. Our hair has a connection to our African ancestors and our white enslavers.
Germinate in Time
To rip out our roots / they learned our language / exchanged our deities / for saints and the images of virgins. / Out of fear for the scorching flames of the pyre / we turned ourselves into seeds / to germinate at the appointed time.
On Feeding a Fed Horse
I don’t always feel at home in most places. Born in Nigeria, in Ilesa, Osun State, I have lived in the United States since I was seventeen. First, in Cypress, TX. Then, in Houston, TX.
Small Town: On the Scope of Sorrow and Beauty
Although called a “resort,” the place is really a trailer park in a small town, pleasantly overshadowed by mountains. Those of us with modest means either vacation here or live in “park model” homes year round.
history ended
dearest ghosts from biafra / and ethiopia / dearest ghosts / from the apartheid / dearest ghosts from angola / and mozambique / dearest ghosts from libya / and somalia
How My Brother Pronounces Home
He says, “I’m sick of all the breaths I’ve lost in my lungs, I’m sick of water letting me drown in it.” then, I recover how he covers himself in his skin, how he wishes his home, is not a burnt skin.
PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize Nominations
Decolonial Passage is honored to nominate Rosanna Rios-Spicer for her short story “Monarch” and Mungai Mwangi for his short story “The Sling.”
the Decolonial Passage 