Someday, Maybe

by Onyi Nwabineli

And by roasted, I mean he has purchased a roasted chicken from Waitrose and roasted it more because Dad taught us at a young age never to trust chicken that has been cooked by white people.

my capacity for loving Q had not reached fruition; there were still unmined depths to it I am never going to be able to explore,

“Chelukwa! My daughter? Tufiakwa!”

Remembering can be tiresome work.

I’m angry he’s not here for me to hate because hating someone who isn’t around takes up a lot of energy with none of the reward of witnessing how your hatred is affecting that person.