Sonnet 2.

P.S Happy Birthday, I send all my unedited manuscript-style admiration to you on the wings of a peregrine.

A look at how climate change and colonialism operate together to displace a young black woman’s sense of self or as she exasperates, “How do I even begin to read the palimpsest of my home landscape, when there is a global climate crisis?”

On par with how I learn most…

But I Break


Nehemie prayed for a distraction, prayed for fate, prayed for an earthquake. Anything to let go of his hand.

Instead she got Gloria.

Gloria was a girl she’d known from gymnastics. Well, sort of. When Nehemie was eight-years-old she was convinced that she would be the best gymnastics champion…

But I Break


Nehemie let her hand fall and the flat keys slipped out of it. Tobi quickly glanced at her and bent down to pick them up. His glasses slipped forward a little, so his hand was by his face when he pushed them up to look at her, it felt…

A poem for Shloka, who inspires me to write better and more wonderful verse for the Keatsian lovers out there traversing the streets.

I am scared of being older,

The wither of Time’s sacred ass

In this apple. Orchard of lived souls,

everything is softly turning. To death

Surely I…

Marshea Makosa

she/her| writer & producer| author of grotesquely unaffected, of sapiens and stars & the creole pantheon project(forthcoming)| earnest earth scientist

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