It is possible for funerals
to happen outside windows, possible
for you to watch one proceed
without really going anywhere. Possible for skies
to turn pink and heads
to hide behind depths of dust or under
black umbrellas the size of clouds.
Possible to go back to the past
and stand by the window with you
shout things at the heads that crown
the tarmac, all of us confusing
one dead man for another.
Down, down with _______
_______ did not die,
_______ did not die,
_______ did not die,
to give _______ my life
would be too little. Possible?
I am lonely. Lonely like a drone
with bones that draw rust. Stand by me,
and watch the dead turn to gold.
Sara Elkamel, born in Cairo, Egypt in 1990, is a female journalist and poet. She holds an M.A. in arts and culture journalism from Columbia University and is currently pursuing an M.F.A. in poetry at New York University. Her poems have appeared in The Common, The Rumpus, American Chordata, Winter Tangerine, Nimrod International Journal, as part of the anthology ‘Halal If You Here Me’, (Haymarket Books, 2019), and elsewhere.