Decolonial Passage is honored to announce the nominations for next year’s Pushcart Prize Anthology. This list includes writing published from February to October 2023. Congratulations to the nominees!

Short Story

“The Sling” by Mungai Mwangi

Poetry

“crawling toward mirage” by Kathleen Hellen

“The Giraffe Titan” by Brandon Kilbourne

“Homage to My Peruvian Brother” by Alex Anfruns

“Homeless” by Patrice Wilson

“Mammy Does the Morning Chores” by Matthew Johnson

On exhibit at the Berlin Museum of Natural History is the dinosaur Giraffatitan brancai, which, like a giraffe, had a long upright neck and forelimbs longer than its hindlimbs. Notably, Giraffatitan is a specimen of colonialism, having been collected from the locality of Tendaguru in the colony of German East Africa (Tanzania today) between 1909 and 1912 and brought back to the German Empire’s capital.


Here in Berlin from Africa,

taken from Tendaguru’s hills!


Lofty among the atrium’s

glass and steelwork high overhead,


eye-socketed summit of bone—

The Giraffe Titan, astride Earth


once again! Do not strain your necks

as you gaze upward in awe, dwarfed


by Mesozoic proportions—

Depleting a continent green,


between this cavernous ribcage

and pelvis sat the source of its


insatiable appetite that

was fed by devouring its way


across Africa’s rife lushness

Strung along these gargantuan


bones were insensate muscles, their

violent contractions swinging


the limbs lumbering wantonly

to leafy troves snatched by its maw.


Next, note how the skull would look out

from this neck tall as a tree’s trunk,


the inhuman heights distancing

higher thoughts from the disasters


waged as each footfall would convulse

the earth, the trail of footprint scars.


Do grasp ladies and gentlemen,

that before you stands the terror


of its time, hunger incarnate

covered in scales, a creature who


by a glutton’s nature, would not

leave a single leaf on a twig


as whole forests suffered its teeth,

entire lakes flowing as rivers


guzzled down a sluice-long throat,

vast wilds fouled to wastes by sludge dung.


My good people, I implore you

to know that this scourge preyed upon


lands homing other animals,

availing itself of food


that would sustain them, untroubled

by whether then they might perish.


Woeful species that could not flee

Were left to the famines sprouting


from its presence, fields of ribs bleached

by the sun, with any challenge


extinguished by the immense weight

crushing bodies beneath four feet.


Be thankful that our Berlin Beast

is but a nightmare’s memory


bound to this defunct skeleton—

Please though take care to remember:


Evolution has a knack for

repetition, reinventing


wings among birds, bats, and beetles,

sleek fins among sharks and dolphins—


She’s likewise over the ages

rehashed her ravaging Titan,


finding a new form to harbor

its continent-gorging greed.


From Europe’s soil, her behemoth’s

avarice arose once again,


albeit in a much smaller

human’s stature. Staking feeding


grounds in Africa through charnel

colonies, this voracity


without end tries in vain to cram

itself full, stuffing its mouth with


diamonds and sapphires, rubbers sap,

gold and copper, clear-cut timber


medicinal herbs, ivory

and hides, animals bound for zoos,


fossils destined for museums,

plantation-grown cocoa and cane,


coffee, sisal, and palm’s red oil,

despoiled rivers and vistas, lands


fertile, grasses for cattle, men

yoked faceless for beast’s hard labor.


If you were to tremble at just

the mention of such crazed desire


not content until Africa

was consumed down to mere pebbles,


I could not blame you. However,

do know I tell you these horrors


alongside the bones showcased here,

so you can recognize as truth


that a rapacity apt for

a dinosaur can masquerade


as something human, giving you

no future reason to gawk, breath


stopped by a gasp betraying

an ignorance of our darkest


nature. Take this chance to acquaint

yourselves with this recurring bane


so to know when it walks the Earth

again, as we can but surely


wager that this monstrosity

will be reborn at a mere whiff


of wealth wafting from soil, luckless

lands left to fend off famished jaws.


Brandon Kilbourne is a Pushcart-nominated poet and research biologist from Louisiana who is currently based at the Museum of Natural History Berlin. Since 2018, his work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Poet Lore, Ecotone, Obsidian, Tahoma Literary Review, Artemis, West Trade Review, Split Rock Review, The Fourth River, Santa Fe Literary Review, Panel Magazine, Slant, Sky Island Journal, Catamaran Literary Reader, and elsewhere. His work has also been translated into Estonian in Sirp.