THREAT LEVELS
NADIM CHOUFI
A neighbor dozes off for another hour and another
neighbor rearranges seven powdered milk tin jars
on her windowsill, each anchoring a local aloe above
ground zero the way refugees anchor the sea, underneath
the girls with their backpacks rendezvous for the first cigarette
tasting the offspring of ash in case they never reach
the other end of their mothers’ tongues wondering
about sons tucking their toes in the sand, each tuck a little deeper
for the comfort of breathing another day to dark
the widow’s clotheslines strung on the back façade of our building,
tendriled with veils of all the seasons showered through her
to put on that black dress as I bend over and kiss my lover’s hand
for dawn to break fast on us, gilding in an order of refraction
I never seem to catch, on a rooftop someone witnesses their salvation
in our city the muezzins call for prayer
each with a different voice
neighbor rearranges seven powdered milk tin jars
on her windowsill, each anchoring a local aloe above
ground zero the way refugees anchor the sea, underneath
the girls with their backpacks rendezvous for the first cigarette
tasting the offspring of ash in case they never reach
the other end of their mothers’ tongues wondering
about sons tucking their toes in the sand, each tuck a little deeper
for the comfort of breathing another day to dark
the widow’s clotheslines strung on the back façade of our building,
tendriled with veils of all the seasons showered through her
to put on that black dress as I bend over and kiss my lover’s hand
for dawn to break fast on us, gilding in an order of refraction
I never seem to catch, on a rooftop someone witnesses their salvation
in our city the muezzins call for prayer
each with a different voice
NADIM CHOUFI is an Arab-Lebanese poet and a regular contributor to Middle Eastern zines. His poetry has appeared in Sula Collective, Jaffat El Aqlam, and elsewhere.
