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AMMAN, 2018


I play with the ball  in the well  of my heart.  The music  I can’t stop playing

is a string of lights,  flapping in  some wicked wind,  strangling a tree.  The

tree  you climbed  was  soaked  in darkness. I  watched  you coil around it

cat-like.  I  was  new  to  the  city  of  stairs. I  pretended   the  house  was 

mine—served  you ice cream in  the garden. I had  never  thought to climb 

a  tree. Now I  had an opening  in me. I sat in the  corner of  the world as 

you danced with slack branches in daylight.  I’m not  sure, from where you

were, I was at all visible.  Before I left for the desert,  I said very little.  I sat

inside myself like a crow, its beak agape, its body flightless and foul. Now 

the music of this crypt plays with me.

Listen to Sara read "Amman, 2018" below:

00:00 / 01:15
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SARA ELKAMEL (she/her) is a poet and journalist living between Cairo and NYC. Her poems appear in The Common, MQR, Four Way Review, Adroit Journal, Best New Poets, Best of the Net, among others. She is the author of the chapbook “Field of No Justice” (African Poetry Book Fund & Akashic Books).

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