When in London

my sister smells afros

on the train, she turns her head towards

in the shop, her nose finds the isle with

at the club, her drunk senses recognise


the familiar smell of unfamiliar bodies,

good unfamiliar.

Intimidating, intoxicating

calling her into a familial embrace

and celebrating her body shape.


When in London

my sister breaths differently

with lungs less lonely

and lips less other.


A man asks her if she’s Indian

as if he doesn’t have a nose

to smell a black woman’s cocoa curls.

Home or not

we all have the same conditioner.


Words by Amuna Wagner

Photo and Edit by Yael Wagner (@photoyael)

This poem was originally published by sweet-thang zine in their fifth issue NOSTALGIA. Sweet-thang zine is an amazing online and print publication celebrating words and art created by Black womxn / Black femmes / Black nb folx. Go order NOSTALIA here. You won’t be disappointed.

Posted by:KANDAKA

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