Her body an itchy scab
wrapped in nine years of pain and dejection,
a dream of getting out
barely flickering in glassy eyes.
What do you do when she left her country for the ‘wrong’ reasons
Are non-refugees non-beings in this sick system?
His legs mark the extremes of war
one shriveled from an old bullet,
the other fresh, throbbing, gaping,
twice its normal size.
Yet his spirit, eyes, smile – sparkling.
Sustained by hope of healing
when he gets out.
A birth, a death
a lightness, a tiredness
one life beats in the hospital after heart-opening
another hangs in the balance as he shuts out the conspiratorial world
on the streets.
Just another month in Cairo.
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