Alone with the Murder

Like a sailor hauling men overboard

on decks, he lowers the latch

on the door of his 8 x 24

cargo container for the final

shut-in. Deserting

her to that rich valley between his prison cell

walls. Alone

with the murder, the dog surveys

the herculean climb to the bottom of his

potential.  Heave,

the sickness ailing him is more than

merely viral, it’s virtual; worse than the rhythmic pace of

time.

Remembrance

Today I want to remember that time where I was sitting outside the front of Jamaa Badr, the large mosque in my new neighborhood of Agdal here in Rabat.

It was a pleasantly chilly evening and I was worn out after quite a long day of medina wandering and the long walk to school. I found myself a good location to have a seat outside the mosque while waiting for a friend I was to have dinner with. As I sat there, head between my shoulders, elbows resting on my knees, enjoying the November breeze, a passing woman did a double take and took a few steps back to me with her pocketbook in hand. The next thing I knew she was trying to push her zakat into my hand! I wish I had been prepared with the proper Arabic phrase which would graciously repel her humble attempt at alms. The best I could do was to pull my hands to my chest and tell her "Ah non, merci". Then I felt sufficiently pathetic enough to stand up and get over the aches in my legs before heading off to tell this story one time only.

Oh the small moments in life!