one where the sky is all mine
one where baba and i meet in the middle
one where corners have bent
one where sugarcane fields have lost their green
confidence in its truth, almost ugly in broad daylight,
worn out, wholesome in memory
no space for shoulders—
your posture will go bad
i think about artists that sing of this city
they bring out photographs devoid of color
but tell the richest stories
will i ever know that richness?
i think of attachments i didn’t know i had
places i carry around
my limbs are tree branches that move near the light,
the body never forgets
i think of this city’s streets, the ones that have seen blood
bridges cover the sky of this mammoth capital,
ghosts outnumbering the living
no one really dies here
i think about lost/gained/treasured time
one side of an album; my brothers and i at a waterpark,
yosef carries me after i scrape my knee during a bike ride,
and i am a baby on my first beach trip
the other side is weddings and graduations,
my brothers are husbands and fathers
and their hair greys
those years settle back on the shelf
my mom says “راح فين الزمن؟" and i have tells
the employee filing my paperwork says my 2’s are not from here
i ask what to say when there’s been grief or when there’s been joy
stray dogs can smell the misdirection on me
i think of kindness indigenous to this land
and it makes me cry, the closer we are
to the nile—a purity returns
when night comes,
a stranger hands me a precious stone and a prayer,
hands become an instrument,
how the room shakes with the music of joy
"ناس زي العسل”
i think of what to make of this
half-opened third eye,
this longing, this possibility
