I take messages
from anonymous callers –
they are persistent.
I can’t remember
if we thought it was special,
or just for laughs.
If you were famous,
I’d trace your silhouette,
then scratch it out.
It’s a suspicion
we need to demystify
from all angles.
There is a window
to a room, with a mattress,
where I used to live.
Reading the paper,
I see a picture of you,
and your daughters.
She wears a hijab,
in keeping with tradition,
and her sense of pride.
This is fantasy,
even so, I can’t decide
what might transpire.