By Amirah Al Wassif.
What do you do if you find a newborn—wet and warm—inside a filthy
Planter? Will you reach out and hold him, wrap him in a rug or sing
Into his ear? What do you do if you see a blind man circling a sewer
Hole? Will you run to him, or laugh and wink because he cannot see
You? Will you let him fall, just as you once fell?
Yesterday, my mother struck my arm and said, “Close your eyes when
You dream, for the sake of the embarrassment, so if you fail, no one
Will gloat.” Just as I dreamed while skipping rope and said, “I’m
Going to Mars,” yet here I am, still sitting on this couch.
I am waiting for the last star to drop into my lap; I’ve made my
Hands like hooks, just for her. What do you do if you see a ghost
With feathered feet, rapping and eating a starfish? Will you be
Shocked, or rejoice? Be ecstatic, or finally go mad?
