Birgitta Abimbola Heikka

Mummy is a praying mantis
her head bowed, her hands clasped,
her knees bent.
From dusk to dawn
...

The yawning sky accompanies
the cries and the beating bell
of the barefoot prophet.
...

I wear neutral
The color of the sand
The color of the stone
The color of the stream
...

Under the Tropical sun, strung
Rumbling like the sea on which she sits
A tornado ride in an amusement park
- exciting, enthralling, endangering.
...

Truth came one day in the form of a naked, black doll
I once possessed.
How I came by it, I can no longer recollect
Perhaps someone with intentions base
...

Through the glass doors, I watch
the sun go down
I sit afraid to move, to lay
my tired legs on the soft waiting bed
...

Sliding from the hills,
a peripatetic path she
follows to the sea.
...

The chameleon
leaned on the lamp post
His designer face
smooth as sherbet ice cream
...

I swallowed a frog whole
and it got lodged in my throat
Latent, it laid in the green bowl
the amphibian I swallowed whole
...

That won’t disappear
Heightening my despair
Illumining phantoms in the midnight air
Scorching flame in the atmosphere
...

I dreamt of a yellow Christmas
the night before
and a little girl with yellow hair
yawning on a mat made of straw
...

Kayode
Wearing tattered trousers
A hoe in his hand
The bright sun playing on his skinny chest
...

Challenging is the choice as one's pocket
What would you like today, Ms.?
The lady at the counter asked
By the numerous choices am I tasked.
...

Face the stage where
Actors spectators play
Chatting in
Every phrase staged
...

Through the glass little Bola recited
she saw a snake small with a tail fluffy.
Inside, she reached, to pet tenderly
this hybrid strange but it hopped swiftly
...

From the corners of my eyes, I see him
The White Lion.
Behind me, hunched over
exhaling smoky puffs frigid
...

I heard a cry nearby
like the moaning of an animal
in pain
With immense agony was it filled
...

On the rock the harried heron sits
a visible speck on a canvas
gazing at the sea
when a wrathful wave crashed against its fortress.
...

In its allotted place in the puzzle, the piece fitted no longer
Bent as if on purpose; its hue to hide.
But in this picture, the observer could see it belonged.
Yet from the rest it stood, distinct, like a twisted tree
...

WE ascertain you
the voice of a cuckoo
asserted.
Who are WE?
...