Aubade | Ebuka Stephen

 

Aubade | Ebuka Stephen 

The sun sits in the lower third of the sky, heavy and warm like an old dog leaning its body against a shin. In the garden, the tomatoes have grown untamed again, their green vines are scenting the air with that sharp smell of things trying to stay alive, desperately at all cost.

& I think about the slaves of then, how they carried themselves through the tough morning of their lives, holding their breath as if the world were a glass dish they might drop if they spoke too loud. Once, I thought resilience was an iron thing—hard and unyielding, built to withstand the hammer. But looking at the lawn, at the way the ryegrasses succumb to the blade and spring up by morning, I realize it’s much softer than that. It’s the willingness to be bent. It’s opening the windows and doors to let the breeze in. It’s in how we listen to the birds chirp their songs, and deciding to love the fragile, breaking of the day.

Ebuka Stephen is an emerging Nigerian poet holding a BSc in Human Anatomy from Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Nigeria. His work has appeared in Rattle, Dragon Soul Press, Discretionary Love, and elsewhere. He was longlisted for both the 2025 ZODML Poetry Prize and the 2025 Sande Poetry Prize. And was a finalist in the 2026 October Project Poetry Contest

Honorable Mentions of the Month
Below are the poems that stood out among the wonderful submissions we received in the month of August, 2026:
• “The Black Crow” by Mac McLoed

• “An Untitled Haiku” by Bibi 

—Selected by Sharisa Aidukaitis

Editor’s Note

You know that feeling when you’re reading and it feels as though the poet is holding you softly by your pinky finger and walking you down a lane of emotions? This is exactly what Ebuka’s Aubade does to me. The poet remains consistent with his use of imagery, giving you his own eyes to see the world the same way he does.

— Daniel Aôndona