The Exchange is the Weeklyās 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.
The Other Side
by Chima āNairaā Ikoro
If you are reading this, congratulations, you made it.
Or you didnāt, and youāre a nosy ghost
peering over the shoulder of a person holding a newspaper
or scrolling on their phone. Either way,
the odds have been defied.
They say that ghosts canāt read but Iāve seen odder things.
Said chickens canāt fly but
maybe they only do it when no one is looking.
I heard both chickens and ghosts
are just trying to get to the other side.
Heard the same about you, too. You
kept waking up even when you didnāt want to,
good thing you have no control over that,
but Iām still here to congratulate you.
God chose to wake you up and you
have managed not to cancel that order. Or
you tried but His card already went through. Or
you tried to place an order of your own and your card declined.
Congratulations, you are broke, so all there is left to be is fixed.
Weāve tried everything else. Congratulations,
you could tell the chickens and ghosts and the warm face of any pillow
about all types of other sides. Like the time that thing happened,
or all those things happened,
and you just kept waking up every day
because sometimes itās all you could do.
You continually met the other side of days and weeks and months
until they all ran out,
until you reached here, on the other side of another year.
Congratulations. Congratulations. Congratulations.
Chima Ikoro is the Weeklyās Community Builder.
Prompt
ācome celebrate with me that everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed.ā – Lucille Clifton, wonāt you celebrate with me.
Take a moment to write a piece in celebration of your continued survival.
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.
Featured below is a reader response to a previous prompt. The last poem and prompt can be found here.
I Donāt Want to Sit at the Bar Tonight
by Shivani Kumar
Let me tie my hairs back slick, pull
my sleeves up tight because Iām in the business
of undoing my days, loving on myself, taking sweet time.
On the clock, I turn water into wine, melt sharp
red onion slivers and tart lemon slices, rind and all,
into jammy candy sticky on all ten of my brown fingers.
Settle a sizzle of Sunday chicken in my cauldon.
Iām brewing magic
in my kitchen, in my home, in my world. In your mind
I say yes to pulling up stools at the mahogany bar —
we can do the chophouse on the cheap sneaky
you say. This time, I say no. I say Iām in my Sunday
best believe Iām wearing my grandmotherās gold.
This time, I say no you see, Iām taking myself
for a night in my kitchen, in my home, in my world
sipping on my homegrown, new town company.
Let me set the scene, table set with my clearance porcelain,
thrift store crystal holding candles raging a welcome.
This time, I say no you must see I am the guest,
the host, the lover, the joint lighter, the finisher,
the seducer, the gentleman, the Iāll get your ass back
sweet talker. This time, I say no you best believe
Iām lighting the damn candles where I live and burn.
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