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Dried Up Places: Poetry by Ebuka Evans

dried up places

i don’t know who taught women how to sit around bonfires and poke their souls into it
twisting and dancing into hate
combing out embers, setting fire to every man they touch
you see women with morgana’s eyes
bleeding out of their mother’s sores pained and wet
jumping into the mouths of men, bitter and agitated

i don’t know who taught them how to melt into a river and make beds
that leave men restless; searching for them in places that speak volumes of empty wells
crawling up their throats with jars of thirst, and wonder, woman
birthing things that refuse to cry, things that have no emotions


Roofless Shelter

he wales in a roofless shelter
somewhere in the uk
holding grains of tears
in his eye bags.

there is an abrupt
light in his eyes, he
doesn’t sea
he bears storms
waves, a last good bye

he is the beach’s sure
standing for rebuke
like a demon in flesh.

he whales somewhere
in the blue sea
large diamond drops
of how he fills
in his emptiness.
Poetry: Ebuka Evans

Ebuka Evans
Ebuka Evans
Ebuka Evans is a writer and poet. He won the “On the Spur” writing competition for The Muse, a journal of creative and critical writing for the Department of English and Literary Studies, UNN.

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