Tolulope Olasewer
12/31/25
Tolulope (she/her) is a poet originally from Lagos, Nigeria. Her exposure to poetry began in the seventh grade, and she has been writing poems ever since then. She moved to the US in 2018 and has since lived in six cities across almost all regions of the US. Some of her poems reflect these frequent changes in residence. Her most recent poems, like this one, center on the experience of both remembering and separating from the realities of her home country, the person she would have been if she had stayed and the fractures, healings and human connections involved in inventing a new kind of life. Tolulope currently lives in Philadelphia, PA.
when the nights are icy and unforgiving,
a warm can of chicken noodle soup on aisle four
when it is time to remember who you are,
a 30ft cord to measure what has been lost
when the kitchen feels like a lifetime away,
a bottle of water for your bedside
hey,
it is almost sunset
& for nine dollars,
a disposable camera to make it last forever
on the way back, Philip says,
forty years ago when i was sixteen i got my first job at this store
& cancer runs in our family, it’s just my brother and i now
& i remember when gas cost thirty-six cents
& they built this interstate right over my grandmother’s home
& my brother lives in redneck country,
he tells me he likes it there and that i probably should not visit for long
& the weather this weekend is so beautiful
& look, that’s around where my best friend grew up
it’s only us on this street
so i tell him about my country
i sprint through my words with a borrowed carelessness
i tell him what i am
smiling, we look at each other through the rearview mirror
at the end of the driveway, Philip says,
hey,
Fall in Vermont is my husband’s favorite time of year
look how the leaves change, as everything does