Wanjohi Prize for African Poetry

the thief has made me a gift of his night’s booty —Wamda Coleman   before the grand festival// i imported second-hand native drums// foreign wound for a local blood that would swallow caskets for [...]

you won’t find lime, oranges, nor breadfruits: but an array of black bodies carted away from their homes by local chiefs, awaiting to be handpicked like cotton by colonizers for trinkets or [...]