street cats and forgetfulness
Gray street cat squeezed itself
between my lifelong friend and I
seated on damp stones searching
for “three stars” in the deepening night
Cat shook in unrelenting Mediterranean mists—
sharp bones poking through sticky fur
resident of a Mamluk’s citadel by the sand
he purred for the first time
sleeping on iodized palms—
If I had my own home
I would share mine with him,
but he clung on when I tried
to set him down
by the intricate mural of beautified falsehoodGaze boring into my being,
he turned, a sallow 6 month baby,
and crawled under a wooden cart
selling plastic shells by our Sea,
Gone alone and hungry
as he cameI am detached from this poverty
stray cats and discarded children
embedded in the motif
designed by hideous men
who left my civilization to rot
for thirty years
—Lose sleep over stray cats
Lose faith over forsaken children—
Neina told me He never forgets
any of us,
not the ants, not the grains of sand,
yet I cannot let it go that easily,
He is here
and they will be protected somehow
but how can I let myself forget
after my Summer soujourn?
Only a sojourn.I am not forced to endure this
like they are,
I have a tiny blue book
that grants me escape.If my family wasn’t from Ragheb
where pastel balconies cradle
polyester garments dripping
onto the balding heads of
unemployed men, uneducated children,
If my roots weren’t still planted
in the soil by the battered Mahmoudeyya,
maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult
to see my Alexandria ailing, rotten,
Forgotten.We were the only ones who escaped the poverty,
the rest of my family, my people
are still here
and sometimes when we leave
we forget them
and the struggles we left behind.—
naira badawi
