Vox Humana Literary Journal

by Lee Gulyas

Saddiq

On knees and palms she waits at the curb. Her legs

twisted, drag behind her as she calls, “Saddiq, saddiq,”
pointing at her eye, then at our car in front of the Lebanese restaurant.

She smoothes my daughter’s hair, calls her jamila, makes
my three-year-old blush. She will keep her eye on our car, protect it,

but what protection can this girl offer? Maybe she keeps it
safe from the other children on this corner, begging with bare feet and cupped hands.

Her arms are sinewy, strong from propelling her body along streets and sidewalks
up and down steps, her ankle length dress flowing behind her

like a gown in Renaissance art. But this is no painting
this gritty sidewalk where she earns her keep,

where two men leave the barbershop across the street,
step over to tell us that she is no cripple.

As they address my husband, the girl stops,
her eyes fixed on mine. “Mush mushkila,” I say, turning my back on the men.

My daughter takes one hand, the girl takes the other,
smiles as she leads us to the restaurant, her shuffling limbs

hidden underneath her skirt, where she tells the doorman
that she will watch our car, he need not bother.

Wedding Season

Here’s the chirp of a transparent gecko
creeping down the wall.

Another night with sleep cut short
by mosquitos’ whine.

The full moon beams through colored glass,
casts shimmers on white plaster walls.

Men strung lights down the street today.
Tomorrow starts the wedding party.

Musicians will play after sunset prayers—
drums and mizmars, ouds.

Three nights of music to gladden the bride
three days of food, perfume, and poetry.

Three nights’ serenade of songs
a lullaby of drums.

Then the raisins are tossed on the floor
for all to gather the sweetness to come.

Aden Afternoon

Now the sun is overhead, air moves
in ribbons thick enough to strangle.

Jagged basalt craters cleave ocean from sky. Flamingos
by the thousands forage through green sewage ponds,

white when they arrive but by week’s end
vivid pink from a steady diet of crustaceans

gleaned from mud. Cattle stall by saltcrust
on the roadside. Lizards hide, even carrion

lie in the road untouched by vultures. The land
glitters, sand crystals magnify sun, and when

I squint my eyes there is nothing
but shine. No wind shifts the sands, no beggars

line the bridge that leads into town, no taxis
in line. Noon slumps into afternoon

and sun slides toward water. When shade
arrives, wind will tousle palm trees, children will kick

balls of rags bound with tape,
throw rocks in the street. Lizards

will leave the dark underside of their stones. Vines
of flowers awaken as the music begins,

as the city emerges
from the refuge of cool, earthen walls.