We sit down to black tea. From the silver pot, the immigrant waiter missing Algeria pours the dark liquid into short glasses; we soften its strength with sugar. You tell us of your trip to Morocco the veiled woman who drew henna webs on your hands the short man who protected you from his thespian friends before he stole all of your money.
I imagine a rhinoceros graveyard their hornless bodies bursting with maggots for a white man's love thick knuckles ivory rings on old women's fingers writing poems with red and green thread my great grandmother sewing together swatches of her family's clothes passing its narrative on with a blessing: fly away fly away fly away home.
The cool air brings Arabic children singing with perfect Spanish accents. During Ramadan they crave gazpacho and paella.
I will never forget the camel I rode with my grandfather in Tangier the stink of its hair its tall lumps shrinking as the sun seethed an Atlantic brimming with gold.
Myronn Hardy, who received the BA degree in English literature with honors from the University of Michigan, is currently studying for the MFA in creative writing at Columbia University.