Lalibela is a book of poems that wander through memory, love, pain, Blackness, faith, and survival. The pieces move like snapshots. One moment you are in a kitchen full of noise and life, then suddenly you are in protest lines, then in the quiet of a bedroom at dawn. The writing drifts between tenderness and ache. It lifts up children, calls out to lovers, mourns wounds, and still finds space for hope. The book feels like a long conversation with a friend who has lived deeply.

The voice here is raw in a way that feels familiar. The plain language makes the emotion hit harder. I could hear the author’s breath in the short lines and the pauses. Some poems read like whispered confessions. Others feel like a shout in the street. I found myself thinking of certain imagery long after I turned the page. The children who glow under the sun. The exhausted women who work three jobs. The hearts that learn to love with both hands. The neighborhoods full of cracked paint and stubborn joy. These moments made me sit back for a second and just feel.

I also loved the way the author writes about Black life. There is pride and rage and humor and longing. The poems praise Black boys and girls with a kind of awe. They honor Black mothers with reverence. They admit to fear and sorrow. They insist on dreaming even when the world tries to shut the dreams away. I felt a kind of warmth in those pages. I felt seen. The writing leans into common objects and everyday scenes.

I would recommend Lalibela to readers who want poetry that talks straight and loves hard. People who care about community, identity, and the quiet bravery of getting through each day will find something here. It is a book for anyone who wants to feel close to another human being for a little while.

Pages: 70 | ASIN : B0FG147WCC