Skin
written by: Stanley Wilkin
The turmoil, expanding
In the Nigerian market spilled over
Into the street, engulfing the dusty town.
The police circled, hunting for gangsters in the dark
Faces of their neighbours, smiles opening
Like fire. From the East, Ola came, her
Dress dancing with colour.
She is my love, my only love,
More beautiful than the white of ivory or skeletons
Bleached by the constant sun and
The laboured foam spawned by the sea.
In the hot sun we kiss
In greeting and care
And our children dance around us singing.
We are the early people
Coming from Africa
Our skin a souvenir from
Encrusted time, beasts with blind eyes reminding
Us to sing. We are the first and the
Last who walked out of the east bearing fair hair
And light eyes into a future revisiting
Itself. We are multitudes gathering before
The throbbing abyss, we are
The ones who survived.
She takes my hand
And leads us to the next turning
Where winds beat against the doors
And TV poles bend towards the ground,
Telling stories throughout the night
Our breath soaked in cigar smoke
Our laughter crossing bridges before us.
The route travelled today
Is always travelled
Our return only changes.
- Skin - March 29, 2026
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- The Puppet Dance - August 15, 2025
