In the morning, afraid of the stillness that often refuses to leave my body, I watch my veins; disturbed by their visibility. I regard a map on the wall, and find hope in the endurance of the uncharted. Every full moon, I dream of becoming one with a monastery, unfazed by anything that does not concern cheese, or wine, or god. My mother asks me to put a rosary in my car and I do not resist. She buys me a copy of the book of God so that it may find a home in my glove compartment and I do not complain. I kiss the book I have not read in a decade and leave it in the car.
by Hazem Fahmy