The Exchange is the Weekly’s poetry corner, where a poem or piece of writing is presented with a prompt. Readers are welcome to respond to the prompt with original poems, and pieces may be featured in the next issue of the Weekly.
Where The Algae Grows (Snippet) by Chima “Naira” Ikoro
my hands clasped around you like a firefly and suffocated all your patience in an attempt to save whatever little light you brought to my face— the buzzing, a whisper calling me to flee towards the heavens with you.
musta saw me and thought “she is so beautiful she must have wings, all of the beautiful things do.” so what did it mean when you looked back, saw me still sitting on the ground looking up at you? either that i was not beautiful, or that i’m broken, or that angels and butterflies and birds are not the pinnacle of grace— don’t roaches fly? won’t the rocks cry out if God decides we are not loud enough? doesn’t every still pool of water with trash in it grow moss or algae, or an ecosystem of mold if it’s left unbothered long enough? won’t something come of this mess if i wait?
Chima Ikoro is the Weekly’s Community Engagement Editor.
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Prompt
“What has waiting taught you about yourself?”
This could be a poem, journal entry, or a stream-of-consciousness piece. Submissions could be new or formerly written pieces.
Submissions can be sent to bit.ly/ssw-exchange or via email to chima.ikoro@southsideweekly.com.
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Featured below is a reader response to a previous prompt. The last poem and prompt can be found here.
For my grandmother by Rosemary’s KT
She’s up when I’m down She’s in the clouds for all time I walk the streets of this earthly presence She shows me the answers to the questions I’ve been seeking. It hurts to think of, it hurts to swallow The pains of losing her is too much to bother Thinking of her, on this day of all days. I’m glad that we spent the time that we did.
You wouldn’t understand by Rosemary’s KT
You wouldn’t understand Just how much it hurts To have the vision of your life Erased entirely But “it’s probably for the best” as people love to say. They wouldn’t understand How you’ve kept all these feelings at bay It probably is for the best, statistically speaking Heartbreak is for the foolish Even me, here I am, Drinking. I sit here alone and I’m not Afraid. Brave enough to start again in this world of fakes. I’m not ashamed of my losses, not worried about my failures. I don’t need to worry about meeting the right guy—he’s somewhere out there, no doubt, it’s possible.
