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Invitations were sent, but no one came
By Ali Al-Jamri
lynx africa makes for cheap incense
a baked potato is no replacement for rice
dress me in a gilded bisht
serve a dried lime in an emptied bowl
spread the saffron like dying embers
drip rose water in my eye drops
I have visions of wrought iron doors
ajar
ancestry brushed out like messages in a dune
I squint, my lashes the length of hadhramaut
a thumb like awal, but coarsely defined
presses down and blots
a spotted memory
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