Winter at Blue City and The Ant

Two poems by Fatihah Quadri Eniola

Today’s post features two poems by Fatihah Quadri Eniola, a young poet from Nigeria. Fatihah is a member of HCAF (Hilltop Creative Arts Foundation) and Nibstears Poetry Cave. She has contributed a number of intricately constructed poems to literary journals including Art Lounge, The Kalahari Review, Beatnik Cowboy, Notion Press, World Voices Magazine, De Curated, Synchronized Chaos and elsewhere. She lives with a very cute cat, Honiy.

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Winter At Blue City.

After autumn, papa and I moved to the blue city/ sparrows were gorgeous 

with their front teeth & the sky's window panes were bright and beautiful 

with the stars pressing their bodies against the wall. I remember ripping 

a snail out of its shell & because god was watching in a blue cottage/ I / a

brunette/ mooched into Venus to crunch rain water. That night/ the insects of 

darkness crawled into the dining room & I stopped eating Bigoli. I travelled 

thirty-three miles into my blue gown for a night show. At the cinema/ cute 

planet Earth was the popcorn man I loved at first sight/ we sipped red wine 

from ocean/ from sea/ from little blue lakes as he threw me the blue stone 

containing a hundred grains of smile. We kissed till my lips softened into a 

red onion but papa broke in & fear/ the city cop/ sharpened a bind of sixteen 

pencils & poke it into our hearts, we died & woke the next summer.

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The Ant.

Death is the brown-thorax ant that bolted 

down the loaves you left on the high table last night.

It traced your footsteps to the cinema, shared your popcorns 

with you, & sat on the left side beneath the halogen lamps. I saw it.

This happened.

I am watching it now, licking your window panes 

with bloody lips, calling it its own. Spying on the screaming 

night, calling it its own. It draws your poor curtain, it wants to say hello.