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Salat el-Sobh

by Hazem Fahmy

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.
Photo courtesy of Cairo Kid
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