by March 27, 2016 0 comments

A pigeon rests a grain of
wheat on my head
in the dead of summer,
planting her dreams.
This bird is my heirloom,
a stray bird –
she is my kin spirit.
A peacock, startling
my pride in cowering.
She has the colours,
mournful colours of right.

– Ogana D. Okpah

editors note:

Plumage presented in the color of right. How proud is that? – mh clay

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