Surviving//Skin
       

In America, I imagine
Noah after the flood; see
his old hands burrow

into the land, the lost
parent finds his child. Dalida
and F airuz and Imam all sing

of the land, but I know
not the difference between soil
and skin. Still, I swallow whole

that which does not love me. In New Cairo,
I lose God. In Old Cairo, I pray
to concrete and hanging wood. My mother texts me.

Today, it is 41 degrees Celsius
in all of Cairo. I ignore white people
who try to explain Fahrenheit.

Connecticut makes me
grateful for the weather
back home. I am puzzled

by New England
architecture. I have no windows
to pray to. February in this country

numbs my fingers, makes me
forgot where my blood
flows. I spit extra hard

at the ground when it's snowing
and I'm smoking just to spite whiteness
itself. I'm still around. I can leave

a mark. Even as I kill myself
I am still surviving
you.

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Copyright © 2018 Hazem Fahmy All rights reserved
from Red//Jild//Prayer
Diode Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission