By Shameelah Khan
My mother always
had a soft spot
For her brother
Who had a difficult life,
A difficult time
Making sense of himself
He was a gentle-child
She would say
Their father
was hard on him
Hard on her
Hard on them
Born into a different time,
Where father’s don’t
Hold their sons
I was playing with my dolls
When I heard a sound
From the back-room
In our first house
Where my uncle stayed
Just for a while
Until he was back on his feet
Taking him off the street
I saw the sheet
cover his naked body
A tattoo on his arm
And his chest
There was a thin tube,
A cracked-lightbulb
And a lighter
I see him now,
A father
Older-
A survivor
A soldier
But once when I was little,
I swear
I saw the smoke from
the bulb catch
Light from the sun
Forming a rainbow
From his hands
And a story of pain
From his mouth
In this issue:
Poetry:
On The Edge – Nomthandazo Nxabela
An Aladdin’s cave of optics – Chris Tait
fourteen lines make a sonnet or an overdose – Nkateko Masinga
heroin(e) – Nkateko Masinga
Route 1 – Alun Robert
From The Womb – Alun Robert
90’s years – Tracy Harvey
black panther – Uma-Thandeka Muhwati
Nights are origin of dawn – Adeyeye James Oluwatobi
Fuck / Tomorrow – Monsur Titilope
Music:
this little piggy went bang bang bang – Shukry Adams
Narrative Essay:
In a Petri dish | Sick, sick and sick – Holly Beaton
Book Review:
Holes – Melissa Fortuin
Article:
Plato – Nishita Kalian
Short Story:
An Itch to be Scratched – Nonjabulo Malinga
Borderline – Ibanez
