Poetry Week – Njau Njeru’s Demons of Her Love

I found this poem on the Kenya Poets Lounge Group on Facebook. It is written by Njau Njeru.  The only way to connect with him is through his facebook.  So, if you like the poem, and want to send him an encouraging word, please send him a message on  facebook or on the Poem link given below.


Forgive me love,
i wandered off to strange tits and
thighs and i lost my way home.
Your memories haunt me, broken
promises like dark shadows in my
today don’t fight me please, let me
say my piece, hear me out, i’m done
lying through my
YOU and ME, we spoke of hopes and
dreams and what the world needs,
in bed we spoke of kids, you wanted
sons I wanted daughters,
we agreed on three but had a fight
over naming.
sometimes she cried, asked her
why she said she loved me so
much it was all scary for her.
she said our story would have a
fairy tale
our stars would align, you and me
would die old as dirt deep in love
like a bleeding fool i had to spoil a
good thing,
the forbidden fruit dangling on my
face and
i chunked it,
wandered off to strange lips and
hips never to find a way home.
bent you out of shape, tears to
nights on end,
you shut the world outside your
heart like an iron box on your rib
my mistake like a stake through
my heart, I broke into a drinking
binge to feel numb.
you avoided me across the entire
digital and virtual spectrum,
the pain never stops, friends say
your tears
still fall,
today i mend fences, on bended
knee and
awkward social graces, i make my
you have to know demons of your
love hang on my heart like bats,
in a purgatory of pain, your name a
hound of your spawn that plagues
its a long shot but if you ever take
me back,
I‘ll love you till I‘m dry, start from
scratch and work my way up
sweet and dark love no one heals
why won’t you look me in the
eyes, your lips they tremble
say something love …anything.

Poetry Week Thoughts:

I chose to share this poem because I love how raw it is.  There is no moment the poet minces words, instead he just lets it flow, stating his pain clearly, and the regret in his words makes the poem shine.  I love it when poems are written this way, because the emotion packed in the words paints such a clear picture, it’s easy to understand what the poet is saying.  Great Job Mr. Njeru.


Poetry Week – Maureen’s Obsession

Poetry Floweth! 

Here’s another poem that’s crossed my desk.  This one is by a fabulous lady who is an emerging entrepreneur.  Her name is Maureen and you can visit her blog to learn more about the struggle that is sustaining a business in Nairobi. She has great insight on how to face some of those struggles you meet when you’re running a business, or starting one, or even ending one.  Give it a check,  here’s the Blog.

Obsession by Maureen

It’s got me tripping,

Think I’m slipping,

This fixation,

So totally distracting,

No Relaxation,

Crazy how I’m reacting,

It’s all consuming,

I’m shaking,

So uncontrollable,

I’ve tried resuming,

But that seems unattainable,

It’s officially a mania,

My complete obsession,

Pales in contrast to Lawrence of Arabia,

It now has full Possession.


Poetry Week Thoughts:

This poem can describe anything you’re crazy about in life.  Be it books, writing in my case, love, business, a sport, your family, a vice,…the list goes on.  Is there something in your life that you just can’t stop?  This poem makes me think of that thing.

Poetry Week – Namatsi Lukoye’s I’m Not Yours to Fix

Today, this blog features, Namatsi Lukoye.  She’s a poet, writer and performs Spoken Word.  I visited her blog and found a very stirring poem named I’m Not Yours To Fix and just had to share it.  She has shared a lot of her work on her blog.  So stop by and give it some love.

Here’s Namatsi Lukoye  by Namatsi:

I would love to call myself a fashion designer but I guess that name is reserved for people who know exactly what they are doing in that profession like Angie (my mum). I am an all round artist; I do basically anything I put my hands and heads on. That said I am an extremely talented copy cat… I can make anything that has a fabric and a stitch on it if I put my mind on it. I am also a spoken word poet and a writer, which gives me a split personality because when it comes to poetry… I write deep and recite with emotion. As for writing, I have had the honor of interviewing some of the highest achievers in my country.

I’m Not Yours to Fix by Namatsi Lukoye

There is nothing as terrible as living in a circle,
when all you want is a dark corner that you can comfortably hide and cry in
How do you live as an open book when every reader is a critic
Watching your every step and even when they don’t say it
You feel it…. the judgement in the eyes as they scroll one word to the next

(a feel of what’s coming in :- All that I am – Namatsi)

I am trapped in this circle;
What i really want well the heavens lied about it
So I am lost somewhere in paradise… confused
It is not as it was told…
The rivers are not clear… pure blood
The gates are not golden… iced tears
There is no music… Choir master rebelled!
And I miss everything,
Everything I once hated
Everything that I once believed in…
Even the silence between us
I miss the stench of our rotting corpses…
Even the worms crawling on top of us… I miss it all

I wish I should have listened to the voice inside… I am not yours to fix
I am not a mix that you need to solve with your tricks
Learn this… I am not yours to study or to feel sorry for
My life is not your politics, don’t pray for me or hope that I will change
Words floating to the sky don’t have a thing on me! That’s not my cage
I am not yours to worry about… so let me die in this drought
Tasteless sorry french kisses you give, what do you know about being a friend!
I stopped trying and learning how to pretend… am not good at it
Let’s be enemies, let’s kill these dark melodies
I am not here for you to try correct
Let my pride be the end of me… because I will not listen to you
Let me live as I please, love as I want, and if the result is to burn… then let me burn
Till the sky cries and the earth sings
Let me go to a road of finding me alone
I miss me every aspect of me! Even the drama queen who held a knife!

Mimi siwako wa kukosoa, kufunza wala kujaribu kuunda (**I’m not yours to correct, to teach, or to fix)
Usikose usingizi shida zangu ukijifanya watatua (**Don’t lose sleep pretending you’re fixing my problems)
I know that I am fragile but aren’t we all… so when I break into pieces
Stay away, I have elements of the devil himself I could cut you… or worse I could kill you!
And anyway, how you gonna help me with a knife in your hand
A log in your eye? And the rejoicing smile you do when you turn away!
I see you… beneath all your eeeish… I feel you
I am not yours to fix… I am not yours to fix! And never yours to save
Poetry has always done that, don’t try compete

This voice you killed… I want it back
I am tired of this space… of the light
I am not a defined script, I make my own way in this journey heading to death,
Death, that kind cruel friend who smiles at us all and takes us to rest,
Why is she misunderstood?
I am not afraid of her…
Anyway, till trees grow downwards and waterfalls make love to the sky
In times of misty doubt and clear joys,
I am on a trip to find me… and I don’t need your sympathy

**ellyinnairobi translation

Poetry Week Thoughts:

There is nothing as terrible as living in a circle,
when all you want is a dark corner that you can comfortably hide and cry in
How do you live as an open book when every reader is a critic
Watching your every step and even when they don’t say it
You feel it…. the judgement in the eyes as they scroll one word to the next

There have been days when I feel like this, facing the world, your family and friends, your community, everyone has something to say about how you’re living, what you’re doing, what you say, and it can get heavy, burden you until you feel the best thing to do is runaway.  When I read this poem, it really spoke to me and the way Namatsi ends it, “>…I’m on a trip to find me...” that right there is the beauty of life and the goal we must all work toward if we’re to find happiness.

Poetry Week – Nakitare’s You Break My Heart

Poetry Week continues….

Today, we take a look at a poem by a man named Sammy Nakitare. I visited his blog through a page on Facebook, and found this lovely post.  Visit Sammy’s Blog and show him some love.  He has great talent with words.



You Break My Heart by Sammy Nakitare

You can make the clouds rain

You can send the sun away

Ain’t there a thing big for you?

At least you claim to know it all

Or so you say you’re my other god

You speak tiny truths snake

And I blindly believe all you say

You break my heart,

With all your lying.


You break my heart,

You leave me frying

You literally placed my life in a pan

Hot on fire toasting at your mercy

And you care not about my cries

I burn in rags as you wow in wealth

Cursed by the vote I cast

You break my heart

you leave me crying


Dreams so big than the skies can screen

Tears well my eyes thinking about’em

You break my heart

With all your dreaming

Yet I can never be where you are

Seems designed just for few

Who never cease to speak of trying

You break my heart

With all your trying


You piled power to make souls fight

Got great tide pulled to your side

You hypnotize the masses

With wise witty slogans

Wicked mathematician

You confuse numbers to your favor

Mister politician!

You break my heart

You leave me dying.


Poetry Week Thoughts:

These are powerful words put together to portray the status quo between the citizen and their leader.  Words given by the politicians are powerful and crashing at the same time. They can force the end, bring about change, or just plain unrest among the citizens who put all their faith in the politician.  It is a dangerous cycle, and I love this poem for putting it in such a profound manner.

Opportunities – Storymoja Festival Writing Fellowship

This is an impromptu post with nothing to do with poetry week, but it’s good to share opportunities as they are found.  This Fellowship is offered to Six (6) Fellows by the Storymoja Festival people.  I imagine they have a thorough vetting process, so if you’d like a chance to get in, I suggest writing the most interesting story possible, with minimal typos.

What is it?

The Storymoja Festival Writing Fellowship 2014/2016 is a 2 Year long programme, consisting of Monthly Workshops which will include group and individual sessions between mentors and fellows, email correspondence with tutors/mentors, study projects, monthly writing projects with deadlines, and the culminating presentation of a completed yearly project at a session in the Storymoja Festival.

The programme is designed in such a way that full time students and persons otherwise employed on a full time basis can participate.


The Fellowship has 6 fellows per revolution.

Fellows must be between the ages of 18 and 35.

Fellows are chosen on the basis of potential judged from submitted works.

Fellows sign contracts committing to the full programme.

Why Join this Fellowship?

  • To develop writing skills in talented authors between the ages of 18 and 35.

  • To develop and promote reading material that reflects the contemporary East African culture.

  • To develop fictional material suitable for consumption by children, teenagers and young adults.

  • To promote the profiles of East African Authors 18 – 35 years old on the International Market.

Application Link :  This link is for the Application Form.  You’re required to submit a 3, 000 (Three Thousand Word) Story. They have specified, so read the application form before submission.

Storymoja will be looking for potential in craft and language. Works submitted must fit in the categories of Urban Fiction or Children’s Fiction (6 – 18 Years)

Okay!  Get to writing!! and Good luck on your submission. P/S I couldn’t find a deadline in their information, so…just submit and see what happens.

Poetry Week – Ask My Shoes by H_ART the Band

H_ART the Band H_ART the Band
This charming group kicks off our Poetry Week with a song called Uliza Kiatu(Ask My Shoes).  The best part of this song is the play on words, it makes you smile, chuckle and laugh, so effortlessly, that by the end of the song, you want to hit repeat and listen again.
The lyrics are a lament by a man of the struggles he faces dating a young woman who expects the best, and so much more than he can afford.  Yet he does those impossible things, while he faces challenges unknown to her. Love makes you do crazy things. Here’s a look at the lyrics from H_ART the Band’s Uliza Kiatu. Courtesy of Kasablanker
Verse 1
Why is love, makes you do crazy things
Ask my shoes, uliza kiatu
And what I went through to buy you those rings
Ask my shoes, uliza kiatu
Masaibu ninayoyapitia, kukupeleka dinner
Uliza kiatu
Na gatheri ninavyokatafuna, eti ndo ukule burger, pizza
Uliza kiatu
Ask my shoes, ask my shoes
Uliza kiatu, uliza kiatu
Verse 2
Nimekopa nikupe, kumbe wewe ndo kupe
Nang’ang’ana ndo tule, juhudi zangu bure
I heard that love should always make us strong
But how I feel like think that they were wrong
Ask me why
Nasema taxi nilipe, rent mi nikupe
Nywele zisongwe Mombasa si twende
Mapenzi nikupe, mpaka we uridhike
Nasema taxi nilipe, rent mi nikupe
Nywele zisongwe Mombasa si twende
Mapenzi nikupe, mpaka we uridhike
Ask my shoes, ask my shoes
Uliza kiatu, uliza kiatu
Ask my shoes, ask my shoes
Uliza kiatu, uliza kiatu
Spoken Word
Kitendawili, kitendawili [tega]
Nilimwonyesha mapenzi akanionyesha mfuko
Alisema doh ya salon ni thao tu
Na kwa mfuko nilikuwa na mbao juu
Alisema anaenda PE
Akirudi nilimpata akimeza P2
So niko stuck katikati
Kama stick ya mshikaki
Nampenda huyu mshikaji
But kiatu tu ndo inajua stori
Yaani vile, mi humchocha nimemflash bahati mbaya
Ju niko na deni ya bob, Collymore
Yaani vile mi hukanyanga matope kabla nifike kwa lami
Na ile stress mi hupitia kabla nimbongeshe kilami
Yaani vile, mi humpandisha taxi
Then naenda kudandia gari ya moshi
Yaani vile, mi humhustlia hadi kiatu yangu inaanza kutoa moshi
Yaani vile, mi humuita baby
Juu najua nikimuita Njeri
Hiyo r inaeza geuka l
Na hiyo moment naeza kuwa nimeispoil
Yaani vile, nimetarmac hadi
Timber yangu inaeza geuka Sunder
Yaani vile, yaani ka ni kukokwa nimekopa
Yaani ka nikuokoka nimeokoka
Yaani ka ni tisa nimepigana tu
Ndo niivishe hiyo figure yake namba nane
Na hata usiku nipate umenichorea nane
Toa moja, saba
Vile nimesag mpaka toja
Nikamdanganya eti mi naishingi Umoja
Nikwamwonyesha mpaka mi si mwana vi-oja
Eti nawork mahakamani kusolve vitimbi za dunia
Bila shaka mashtaka
Yaani vile hata vile dunia ikasimama tutasimama pamoja
Yaani vile, ka mapenzi ni nywele basi we ulinisetia nati
Yaani vile ka mapenzi ni kikohozi
Basi bila shaka niko na TB, niko na fever juu ananiumiza
Yaani vile, ka mapenzi ni mistari
Basi namwandikia sentensi
Matenzi mpenzi nakuenzi vishenzi
Niko chizi, crazy
Mwizi, wa mapenzi
Nifunge, am guilty
Here to testify
Ask my shoes, ask my shoes
Uliza kiatu, uliza kiatu
Ask my shoes, ask my shoes
Uliza kiatu, uliza kiatu
Listen to this song here: Youtube Link –  Uliza Kiatu/ (Ask My Shoes) 
I discovered H_ART the Band through an appearance on a local television station.  They were doing a live performance and it was hard not to stop and listen.  They’re energetic, and engaging.  I love guitars and the band plays very well, which is always a plus for me.  They’re going far, and I hope to hear more from them as we go.
Follow them below to get news on their latest events:
Like their Facebook Page: Hart the Band

Poetry Week – Reflection


Dr. Maya Angelou – An Inspiring Woman

Last week, one of the greatest Poet, Dr. Maya Angelou, passed on and it had me reaching for her works.  Reading back on the many great words she’s shared with the world.  Cataloging lessons learned in her life, and thought provoking poems that make us pause.  She’s taught and inspired generations, changed perception and inspired courage with words, she shared her experiences through her poems, giving courage to many. Below is one of her most famous poems:

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise

I love this poem because it is a powerful affirmation, no matter what or whom you meet in life.   Those things you or I are angelou2facing now, those terrible things, or wonderful things, those difficult or easy people you meet, if you believe in yourself and stand strong, you’ll rise.  For these powerful words, I thank Dr. Maya Angelou for sharing them with us.

Poetry is one of the most inspiring forms of art there can be.  A few words, arranged in stanzas can hold powerful messages that will inspire you, call up an emotion inside you that even you didn’t realize you had.  Poets often describe a situation, a feeling, an experience in such a way that you have no choice but to agree, or disagree, or find an urge to discover if that description fits that moment.

On this note, this coming week, this blog of mine will feature some poems from a few of Kenya’s Poets.  Most of whom have become musicians, changing our small world with their courageous words.  I love music, and a good song is one that reaches the soul, so explore with me.

Sauti Sol – Best Group in Africa Nominees



Sauti Sol

Who are they?

Sauti Sol is a Kenyan band with “…a mix of soulful voices with vocal harmonies, guitar riffs and drum rhythm.”  Great musicians, great songs, yes, listen to #Nishike. I can’t help loving this song!

They are also up for an award at the 2014 MTV Africa Music Awards for Best Group in Africa!! I love these guys, so show your support and let’s put them at the top!

Here’s the link:  http://mama.mtv.com/vote-best-group.html Vote! Vote! Vote!

Picture Perfect

picture perfect2

This story has taken a lot longer to publish than I thought, but here is an excerpt and hope you all look forward to reading it:



Eric focused his lens on Beth as she prepared for her wedding. He locked away his emotions, snapping pictures as the woman doing Beth’s make-up ran a brush over her soft brown skin. He shifted angles and concentrated on capturing Beth on the most important day of her life. Her dress was stunning. A white confection of silk and organza, the bodice hugged her chest and waist tightly, then floated to the floor in wide skirts. When she sat down, it looked like a sea of white. Her hair was brushed into a tight ponytail, with a shining clip decorated with tiny diamonds. She smiled at him and he took a picture of it. She was happy, happier than he had ever seen her. That truth stabbed deep inside him, it was obvious he was just going to have a very hard day today.

Two hours later, Eric stood on the sidelines of the altar at the Holy Basilica in Nairobi, his lens focused on Beth and Taylor. With each picture, he captured their smiles, Beth’s teary eyes, happy laughs. His jealous heart was suffering. If the fates had chosen different, he’d be the one holding Beth’s hand, watching her blush when the priest asked her to say her vows. Taylor dried the tears of happiness from her eyes when she slipped a ring on his finger.

When the priest announced them as husband and wife, the cathedral erupted in wild ululations. Women sang, men clapped in jubilation. He documented it all, taking pictures of the happy couple then turning his lens to the happy audience. The cathedral was full with family, friends, distant relatives and work colleagues.

And then, there she was.

Victoria Waina in red. She looked gorgeous, she’d added a red flower clip in her hair on the left side. He smiled taking a series of pictures. He lowered the camera and walked toward her. She’d chosen a bench near the back of the church, and sat on the edge near the aisle. She graced him with a smile when he approached. She moved to make space for him to sit.

“You came,” he said taking her hand. She’d even painted her nails red.

“Yep,” she said, turning to look at him. Her smooth skin was a warm caramel brown. He dropped his gaze to the hem of the silky dress, and followed the curve of her legs to find her feet in delicate red heels and her toenails painted a fire-engine red. She’d gone all out.

He lifted his gaze and met her inquiring one. “I told you red was great on you.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said tugging her hand out of his. “Shouldn’t you be taking photographs?”

He pointed to his assistant Linda, who’d taken over the job. She was at the front taking pictures as Beth and Taylor settled into their seats. The priest launched into a short sermon and he slouched on the bench so that he could whisper in Victoria’s ear.

“I’m so happy to see you.”

“This is a church, don’t make noise,” she said clutching her red purse tightly.

“Everyone is making noise, the ceremony is about to end. Stay with me,” he said as the priest finished the ceremony.

“I have to get to the hotel,” she said.

“You’re my date, you can’t abandon me,” he cajoled. “I’ll let you play with my camera.”

She chuckled. “I really doubt that, you hug that thing like it’s a baby.”

So she’d noticed, he thought with a smile. His gaze dropped to the expensive camera resting against his chest.

“It is my baby,” he said grinning at her.

The priest finished his blessing, officially ending the wedding ceremony. He grabbed Victoria’s red purse from her hands and slipped it into his camera bag. He stood and walked up the aisle to take pictures as the bride and groom turned to face the world as newlyweds.

Victoria found him outside the cathedral. She’d slipped on dark glasses because it was very hot. She touched his arm when he finished taking a group photograph of Taylor, Beth and their immediate family.

“Give me back my purse,” she said.

“Nope, you and I are stuck together.”

“I’ll take your camera hostage,” she warned as Taylor’s workmates arranged themselves around the Bride and Groom.

“I’m working, dear. Do you want me to get fired?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m working too. You’re keeping me from my job. I need to get to the hotel.”

“Grace hasn’t called you, so in truth, I’m saving Grace from an overly concerned boss.”

Victoria laughed. “Are you always this annoying?”

He flashed her a grin. “Only when I want something.”

She folded her arms against her chest and moved closer to watch him align his shot. He rarely had anyone watch him work, but her presence was welcome. She wasn’t intrusive, and he liked the flowery scent of her perfume. She’d changed it from the mint he remembered at the hotel.

When he finished the shot, the group around Beth and Taylor congratulated them on their wedding.

“So, do you only do wedding photography?” she asked as they waited for Beth’s workmates to arrange themselves.

“It depends on the assignment. There are months when I have weddings each weekend. But, during the week, I spent my time in my studio in Hurlingham, or on the road taking shots for assignments out of town.”

“Where in Hurlingham?”

“Will you come to visit?” he asked sliding her a glance.

“Maybe,” she said with a small shrug.

He smiled mesmerized by the elegant motion of her slender shoulders. “My studio is behind the supermarket at the Hurlingham Shopping Center.”

She pointed to the group who were waiting for him to finish. He winked at her and returned his attention to his camera. He spent the next ten minutes answering her questions and taking photographs of Beth and Taylor and their guests. When they were finished, Victoria watched him pack up the tripod.

“Can I have my purse now?” she said. “I should really get to the Savon now.”

“Grace seemed competent to me. She’ll do better without you hovering.”

“Are you going to keep my purse hostage throughout?” she asked.

“If that’s what I have to do, then yes.”

He held the folded tripod in his left hand and waved to Beth and Taylor. “Come on, let’s go on an adventure.”

“Where to?” Victoria asked following him when he started walking toward a black Jeep he used for assignments.

“The wedding pictures are going to be taken at a residence in Upper hill. Taylor’s aunt owns property there, please come with me.”

He handed her the tripod as he unlocked the Jeep. He opened the trunk and took the tripod from her. Placing it gently on the trunk floor, he closed the door and moved to open the front passenger door for her. He urged her in, closed the door firmly and hurried around to the driver’s side. He wanted to reach the venue first so that he could look around for the best places to take wedding photographs.

Starting the car, he drove out of the Basilica parking lot. When he joined traffic on Parliament road, he tuned the radio to a rock station, and lowered the volume to a comfortable level.

Victoria settled in her seat and asked, “So, how did you start doing photography? Did you train in school?”

He chuckled. “Why?”

“Because,” she smiled at him and he wondered at the small punch in the depths of his stomach. It was the way her lips curved just so, her smile was genuine. “Most people just self-train when it comes to Photography. They do it like a hobby, and keep a day job.”

“I actually wanted to do journalism, but changed my mind and decided to do Film Production. I wanted to create movies in Kenya when I was in college. But, my photography career started long before college, so you’re right, it was a hobby first.”

“Have you made any films?” she asked with genuine interest.

“I have done documentaries,” he said. “I have worked with different organizations and institutes, doing environmental and social pieces. I get to see a lot of sides of this country through the different assignments. Some are heartbreaking, others breathtaking, it depends on the topic.”

“Do you like it?” she asked studying him.

“I love it,” he said truthfully. “I don’t remember a time when I didn’t have a camera in my hands. Whether it’s a wedding photo shoot, or making a documentary in the slums of the city. I’m just happy to be telling a story.” (to be Continued...)


Look forward to this e-book, coming soon.


Short Stories Week End

A Week in Short Stories

This week has been Short Stories Week on this blog. There are so many short stories, I’m sure this small collection amassed this week is barely a dent. I had a great time getting to see what other writers were up to. Here’s a summary of the stories checked out this week.

1. 21 Days by Dora Okeyo
2. Fatima by Hellen Masido
3. Within An Inch of Heaven by Bunmi
4. The School by Donald Barthelme
5. The Tow Away by Awuor Attyang

Each one of these stories had it’s own unique quality. Here’s to more discoveries in the next Short Stories Week in May.