OF TEITA'S BALCONY
(TO THE TUNE OF FUTURA FREE)
HAZEM FAHMY
Mama sits on Teita’s table
by the window overlooking
the burnt down Old Cairo
police department. It is
morning, and the sun lets
me see the dust dance around
this balcony. Roots run deep.
She asks me why I am still
awake, and I say: I have
become my own sleep
deprivation, jet lag of
diaspora, always on the
move, never in one place
for supper or summer.
I'm just a "guy."
But I sometimes wish the night
sky was a field of budding roses,
stretching from the Nile to the
Hudson, wide enough to get lost in,
small enough to never need to call
my [Mama] like: [Mama] come
get me. There are no windows
in this house.
by the window overlooking
the burnt down Old Cairo
police department. It is
morning, and the sun lets
me see the dust dance around
this balcony. Roots run deep.
She asks me why I am still
awake, and I say: I have
become my own sleep
deprivation, jet lag of
diaspora, always on the
move, never in one place
for supper or summer.
I'm just a "guy."
But I sometimes wish the night
sky was a field of budding roses,
stretching from the Nile to the
Hudson, wide enough to get lost in,
small enough to never need to call
my [Mama] like: [Mama] come
get me. There are no windows
in this house.
HAZEM FAHMY is a poet and critic from Cairo. He is currently pursuing a degree in Humanities and Film Studies from Wesleyan University. His poetry has appeared, or is forthcoming in Apogee, HEArt, Mizna, and The Offing. His performances have been featured on Button Poetry and Write About Now. His debut chapbook, Red//Jild//Prayer, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press this Fall. In his spare time, Hazem writes about the Middle East and tries to come up with creative ways to mock Classicism. He makes videos occasionally.
