January 1, 2016

D.M. Aderibigbe


for Lena Bezawork Gronlund

Untouched, she began to soak
her Maths textbook with her eyes.

The air of the afternoon, steam,
which rose from a pot of boiled water:

voices in the class, drenched in sweat. 
Yet, she shook like a curtain in the wind.

Yet, she covered her life with a cardigan.
Yet, she rubbed mentholated balm 

all over her discomfort. 
The entire class looked; eyes sold 

cheaply to confusion. 
Out of this pool of ignorance, 

a boy arose like a saviour. Planted 
this female fever on his back, 

stepped out of the class. Turned 
towards the school clinic. 

from Rattle #50, Winter 2015

[download audio]


D.M. Aderibigbe: “It was February 2012. I had just started writing seriously and was still not sure of where I was headed. Then I read poems from Natasha Trethewey and said to myself afterwards, I want to be a superhuman like this poet.”

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