The slender crescent of the moon
Ticks the beginning of
Date nights –
Mainly Ajwa or Anbara
Huge clusters that grow on date Palms
Unfurl
Like pinions of angel wings
Buckled
Underneath the fronds.
Can we overfeed hunger by just that?
Our mouths, garbagy—
Ravening back and forth to eat of Medina’s soil and
Caves that miraculously branch out of Jabal Al-Nour
As images bolted in that holy place
For us to “remember”
Barren eyes that swallow the Arabian and
Never belch.
We sit at the Dastarkhwan,
Our platters filled with nothing but malaise
Unperturbed.
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