Bitter Sea
Proof your dream is true: seeingthe Prophet’s face. As a child in Mecca,I once imagined I saw him. We prayed for whole dayson rugs behind the concentric circles of people doing tawaf.White marble everywhere! Soon even the air looked hazywith light, small birds inside bowl-shaped fixtures.Miles of archways, calligraphy I read as art first,then lesson. I thought, Here I can ask for anything,so I prayed obsessively: Please give me friends,please let my family enter the highest heaven, please letus all die together somehow, in a plane or car crash. Let usdie of martyrdom: of stomach cancer or murder, save usfrom the punishments of the grave. I was staringat the Ka’ba, that infinity-black cube, for hours—I saw him. The Prophet flying around it. I couldn’tmake out his face. I told…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, May/June 2022