Picture this: my parents left the buzz of two cities- one in Egypt, the other in New York- just to end up in quiet rural suburb in Texas. Continue reading “a mosaic of past poetry”
Her hips swayed when she walked. She pulled out a cigarette and offered me one.
Mama always told me not to listen to anyone but god.
So I’ve broken crosses and burned holy books in the name of god.
I’m listening really closely mama,
and I think my name is god.