William Nsai

On a morning in June
after it has rained all night,
it is easier to hear everything:
distant and repeated hammerings,
birdsong,  a ticking clock with the insisting seconds,
the urgency of lizards on a roof, the road.
If you held the tilt
of the glass in your hand,
one third full like a fluid frustum or something,
in reluctant ascension to your lips,
with the four ice cubes
you decided were chic melted in,
it is easier to pretend,
if you looked out of a window
long enough at the referential sun
incomprehensibly glittery in a pothole
that it still has the taste
of something.
This is the third listless morning after
you awoke from love.


Post image by William Nsai via 37th State Blog


kechi-nomu-portraitKechi Nomu writes from Warri, Nigeria. She recently took part in the first regional FEMRITE/AWDF non-fiction writing workshop. Her works have appeared in Saraba Magazine and elsewhere.