after Jake Adam York
I go arm in arm
with only the shape of me
the men arm in arm
ogle me like some strange
dodging cars and looks
feline bodies dead or alive
he says ‘fantastic’
in the space between us
passing, just a second
and all of my time
imposing himself
forever, a word
he believes to be mine
a whiteness, a look
some body he sees
as not belonging here
too much, too little
somehow surviving.
no one likes to see that
not in this city,
especially if you can get out
if you’re not from here
passing, papers, flights
you’ve seen the insides
of the walledoff US embassy
worth more than my own
language thrown at me
not worth my own language
tonguetwistedsafety
Why did you come back I live here
Why did you leave I live here
the rarity of why any
one would come back
here, this city is home
cradled in a toothy mouth
committed to eating
all foreign bodies
Nour Kamel
Nour Kamel is perfectly lit and writes things in Cairo, Egypt. Kamel works as a writer and editor, studied at the University of East Anglia with a year abroad at the University of Mississippi, is a Winter Tangerine workshop alumnus, and was shortlisted for the Brunel International African Poetry Prize in 2018. Kamel writes about identity, language, sexuality, queerness, gender, oppression, femininity, trauma, family, lineage, globalization, loss, and food.
