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The Day That Rejected Your Visa Application

by Bola Chinelo

So I must admit, I’ve been lurking

around for hours with no awareness of


where to plant my feet. Or where to drape the

topline of my shoes —in the sky’s hollow


or the mountain’s poking cap? Since we are on the

subject of drawing lines in the sand, what color do I use


and which side will you permit me to stand

on? I’ve always gawked at the idea of sankofa—


of returning back to the lion’s mouth and expecting it

not to roar. If it collects me in the margins,  may I call


it a mirage, if not home? Before the street lights

and the stars wither into morse code flickers,


and the trees brush the sky into scatter and the winter’s

end comes galloping rendering me headless, I want you


to know I have a resting place. Where my smiles contort

their inner smiles and the unlocking of hands beguile


the toughest of Ham’s


About the Author

Bola Chinelo is a Los Angeles based writer who received her Bachelor's of Arts degree from UC Berkeley.

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