Back to Issue Fifty-Eight

poem to be read top down, then bottom up

Omar’s mom died on Friday during Ramadan
It’s been two years since he left
New Jersey, he swore he’d never come back
February, too, has returned. How I’ve missed
this blue-grey sky, wet all around
it’s been winter all year
He pours me another cup of tea, I watch his hands
skin so soft, like persimmons
let me see your palms
your charms wasted on me
to tell the truth
I’ve resisted very little
nothing, really
did you hear about the latest bombing
and yes, U.S. intervention never helped anyone
I can’t help but think it’s been so long
since we’ve danced in this room
What I want to say —
it doesn’t matter
all I’ve done is miss you
in my room, sometimes I call
to let you know how I’m doing
An entire hospital was decimated yesterday.
All I can do is bring myself to look at the water
I don’t even want this drink.
Sometimes I go to the grocery store
the apples are so bright
I am trying to believe what’s in front of me
foreign policies never worked,
we’ve known this
still, everyone around me is beautiful
everyone in this room is dying
I look and you let me.
Omar thinks the stories need repeating.