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12

Sea Prayer

Khaled Hosseini

My dear Marwan,

in the long summers of childhood,

when I was a boy the age you are now,

your uncles and I

spread our mattress on the roof

of your grandfathers farmhouse

outside of Homs.

We woke in the mornings

to the stirring of olive trees in the breeze,

to the bleating of your grandmothers goat,

the clanking of her cooking pots,

the air cool and the sun

a pale rim of persimmon to the east.

We took you there when you were a toddler.

I have a sharply etched memory

of your mother from that trip,

showing you a herd of cows grazing in a field

blown through with wild flowers.

I wish you hadnt been so young.

You wouldnt have forgotten the farmhouse,

the soot of its stone walls,

the creek where your uncles and I built

a thousand boyhood dams.

I wish you remembered Homs as I do, Marwan.

In its bustling Old City,

a mosque for us Muslims,

a church for our Christian neighbours,

and a grand souk for us all

to haggle over gold pendants and

fresh produce and bridal dresses.

I wish you remembered

the crowded lanes smelling of fried kibbeh

and the evening walks we took

with your mother

around Clock Tower Square.

But that life, that time,

seems like a dream now,

even to me,

like some long-dissolved rumour.

First came the protests.

Then the siege.

The skies spitting bombs.

Starvation.

Burials.

These are the things you know.

You know a bomb crater

can be made into a swimming hole.

You have learned

dark blood is better news

than bright.

You have learned that mothers and

sisters and classmates can be found

in narrow gaps between concrete,

bricks and exposed beams,

little patches of sunlit skin

shining in the dark.

Your mother is here tonight, Marwan,

with us, on this cold and moonlit beach,

among the crying babies and

the women worrying

in tongues we dont speak.

Afghans and Somalis and Iraqis and

Eritreans and Syrians.

All of us impatient for sunrise,

all of us in dread of it.

All of us in search of home.

I have heard it said we are the uninvited.

We are the unwelcome.

We should take our misfortune elsewhere.

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