• Strange Rain

    Okwudili Nebeolisa

    Summer 2022

    Bored of the monolith the house had become,
    I stepped out of it, barefoot, even if
    it was still drizzling, silver sabers
    collapsing from the sky. This was the wrong time.
    Rain in the last week of November
    in Kaduna? Where was the twisted tongue
    of harmattan lashing at the houses’ eaves?

    The sun, departing, washed me in oily light―
    I didn’t use to think this was striking
    enough to forsake my chores to watch it.
    But now, it reminded another part of me
    of the promise to grow sage next year,
    something to force me to forget the grief

    I had been made to experience this year.
    The dog pawed out of the house and joined me
    in fathoming the fathomless sky.
    For the first time she was not troubled
    by the quiet. Just look at her, matured,
    as she joined me in worshipping the silence,
    the brown dough of her face resting on my feet.

    Okwudili Nebeolisa is an MFA candidate at the Iowa Writers Workshop. His poems have appeared in The Cincinnati Review and The Threepenny Review, and are forthcoming in Image.

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