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Bridging the Mediterranean

September 9, 2010

As anxious

as a trembling leaf

in stark A/C

beneath the covers

I catch sunrise through the curtains

and wince.

Lying on an aching mattress

beside the drone of ever spinning wheels

pushing asphalt into past.

Just as the road

divides, bends and

rises into bridges

let us for one day

put our differences

in the tires’ path.

Take my hand

not my sect.

Palm naked

bitter coffee read by wrinkles

and laughter from superstitious

old women speaking of hearts, snakes

and doves

contrasted by the judgment of righteous men

stoning and the veil

all those poor victimized Arab women

coming through in misinterpreted vowels

from your mouth

reaching for my necklace

laced with God and gold

notions abstracted from media

the devil’s propaganda machine

governments’ spew and extremism’s misguided glory.

I have no time these days it seems

to dwell on words tangled

in pre-assumed heaven.

I only have this tired body

willing shelter from gasping humidity and dust

from wooden crosses and holy men

smirking that “Good” is wrong

that the alter is where I should

bathe my body and wed.

My fingers long and tanned

slip out from under the duvet

reaching for my dark hair

symbol of my birthplace

wavy strands coiling like hips curving

past sunglasses

in the orange light of approaching sunset

by the sea

perhaps the Mediterranean

always as free as these thoughts

that within me lie and seep.

By Sarah Snowneil Ali

August 31, 2010

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2 comments

  1. this is truly amazing Sarah
    -Dana


  2. nice title..



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