Kobina Wright

We Are Burgeoning Like We Always Thought We Would For Our Individual Selves Seeking Truth As We Know It To Be, Surveying The Course We Surmise Each Should Go


Come here!

I’m not going over there!





Beneath The Dust And On The Shelves In A Warehouse In Wayne County Sits The Bitter Humiliation, Disconsolation, Nightmare and Violation of Thousands of Daughters; Dumped In Forgotten Boxes; Some Exposed To The Elements Of The Building


Folks were killed

while those men

ran free.





The Ritual Of Breakfast Steers Me To Coffee, Mostly For The Effect Of A Chemical; But Also To The Hunt Of A Singularly Wrapped And Seldom Stocked Chocolate Chip Cookie Held Together With Calories And Potato Starch


Why aren’t I

buying by the case?


by Kobina Wright


Kobina has written for publications such as LACMA Magazine, The Daily Titan, and CYH Magazine. In 2004 she wrote her third volume of poetry titled, “Say It! Say Gen-o-cide!!” − dedicated to the Rwandan Genocide of 1994. In 2009 she co-authored a volume of nuler poetry titled “A Crime And A Simplification Of Something Sublime.” In 2010 she wrote a volume of nuler poetry titled, “50.”

Aphrodite’s Jealousy Lasted Three Lifetimes

Hazel colored Kolmården,
a marble cutter,
showed me one morning.


That’s what her eyes,

looked like against nightfall,

when she begged.


“Save me,” she whispered,

as feathers formed,

and drifted in the same breath.


I exhaled smoke,

And watched,
galaxies vanish between our lips.

What about my concrete,
and harbored self,

led her to ask?

Which vials possessed her

to prophesize,

a messiah in me?


by Romila Barryman


day after valentine’s

bummed a
cigarette from a man
with tattoos and Marlboros
he said I don’t need a quarter and I don’t smoke weed

                                                            and I felt ashamed

asked a lady at south
station for directions she thought
I was asking for change but sighed and said I’m looking for congress street too we walked together and she told me she ventured thirty miles into this
city on this sunny Friday afternoon
to do her taxes

and I wanted to hold my head under murky water until my ears rang with stillness

                                                                                                                                    I felt so ashamed

saw a woman in the public

gardens knee-deep in slush running like mad throwing

peanuts, searching for a he or she or it or them named pinky

saw her succumb to the snow as she started to wail

                                                                                                and I felt


by Emily Woods


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