Damascus in Ramadan (Poem)
An affliction that multiplies hourly
There is no straight man in the world said starry eyed Rima, as we returned from the Damascus book fair where, for the hundredth time, I fell in love.
No straight man in the world — only cheaters, pimps, addicts, & bores. Rima passed her days on the rooftop watching the world unfurl,
watching her rivals fall in love. She once had a man more beautiful than herself, she said. She didn’t want children.
She wanted just a touch, a hand, to grant release from her celestial observatory, to aim arrows at her stars.
Damascus in the month of Ramadan is an affliction that multiplies hourly the hunger inside, the longing to be touched, until prayer brings roof banging at dawn.
I thought I had bested Rima’s forecasts. Until the plane landed. I tried to remember the name of the book fair man whose smile had stolen my heart.
His syllables merged with others’ words. His nomadic soul hitched onto Rima’s stars.