I remember staring at the ants, as a child,
stuck in the outfield. I never saw the white
meteor that whisked past my egg-shaped head
which looked silly in an oversized blue cap,
I was the boy who missed half the assignment,
too engaged in my reading to hear the teacher
give instructions. Struck with embarrassment,
I read on.
I can do amazing things. I can move my arms
and legs, I can light a cigarette before the
wind steals the flame. I can ponder God and
thought and love. I can imagine worlds of
words, and lose them again in a moment of
So much of this I shared with you. And yet,
you are soon to be ripped from my world, a
wonder of passive violence, the tether between
us spooling out, running out, and continuing
to lengthen as the sinews of my heart unravel.
If all the world was mine, wrapped up in the
palm of my hand, I would say:
"Here. Take. It's nothing to me without you,
so just keep it until I see you again."
-Omar, the tentmaker
back. . .