Written by Marta Ashraf

“broken glass is swept against the sides…”

how today was
the running late, usual
accidents on the Suez, usual
not too usual, two accidents, not one

second class today
we turned up our noses at FGM but not at ‘MGM’ and how
i need to put that term in quotations because
it’s a parody to you
whoever you are
but the dominant narrative, yuck factoring all the
who mutilate their girls
it mutilates their boys.
and i sit there on a dusty bench
in the sultry weather
trying to breathe
sitting outside
not being able to breathe
~it’s honestly one of the most terrifying things
to be
unable to feel any freshness in your lungs~

as you gulp in the air,
this calls for a panic attack
no crying
just panic,
no thing is wrong but it’s not
i pass by the Suez,
the roads have been cleared
and i am told that someone important is passing by,
the president will be at the airport,
and i frown deeply
to myself
at how
broken glass is swept against the sides
of the roads, like
broken bones
under the rug.