Spill

Eshiemomoh osilama, mbs

MD class of 2024

Sunshine, in the mornings, spills. It slips and slithers as it tills. Routine and unremitting, yet still, I find it bestilling –how the Sunshine unravels and ribbons, like the crest of a breaking wave. I’m always drowsy in the mornings, from eyeing the light and the course of its routes. But I love the taste and the remedies of Sunshine in the mornings; as the rays flood up to my lips, it reminds me of spilt orange juice.