In a Nigerian compound, a young woman notices the two words her family uses for home — one from the elders, one from a mallam — and lets that gap stand for the distance she now feels from everyone there. Amid rain and red mud, she retreats inward, counting her ribs like a cage sized to fit her solitude.
Read it here: https://brittlepaper.com/2026/09/dar-ile-wardah-abbas-poetry/
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