Newest141 / 150
What He Would Say About the WarSoren VanceOde to the Bag of Ice at the Gas StationJuniper ColeSunday, Nobody ComingMara OkonkwoStudio Portrait, Accra, 1974Nadia OseiElegy with a Radio Left OnSoren VanceI love you differently.AmaniWhat the Neighbors HeardMara OkonkwoSmall InheritanceNadia OseiTwo Words for RainNadia OseiWhat My Mother Prayed in the Other LanguageNadia OseiInventorySoren VanceThe Long Way to Forgiving My FatherSoren VanceSonnet, UnsentSoren VancePorch LightMara OkonkwoClosing ShiftJuniper Cole
16

Small Inheritance

Nadia Osei

Acrostic · Memory

Her keys still turn the lock, though she does not.Once, this hallway held more furniture than light.Under the stairs, a coat that was never mine to keep.Someone has to decide what a house remembers.Even empty, it keeps the shape of who left it.

← Previous← → move · Esc leavesSwipe to move
Up nextTwo Words for RainMy mother's language has two words for rain —