By REWA ZEINATI
the war drove us out—
and into my father’s used white sedan—
a school drop-off I’d hoped none
of the other kids would notice—
(their engines a roar of paid drivers).
everyone was from somewhere else
even the locals we called lawakel,
even if they were someone we could never be.
summer months went on
for years—this is a city,
we were told, and we almost
believed it—this is how sand
becomes gold, we were taught,
and we almost envied it.
and every december, around christmas,
we’d turn the chiller all the way up
and pretend it was winter.
this was my brother’s idea—
to hide under the covers
and wait for the gifts.
Rewa Zeinati is the recipient of the 2020 Edward Stanley Award for poetry, the founding editor of Sukoonmagazine, and the author of the poetry chapbook Bullets & Orchids. Her poems and essays are found in a number of national and international journals and anthologies. She lives and works in Metro Detroit.
