I am skin and I am not skin. Skin around skin behind skin. Skin touching air touching blue touching you. Skin under hair so coarse it bruises itself. Skin inside bricks outside sun inside someone else. Skin passing over Cairo. Skin a few hours before its birth. Skin without fingers. Skin why. Skin I broke the crystal bird between my legs. Skin fiction me I’ll fiction you. Skin before ablution.
I am
and I am not
around
behind
touching air
touching blue
touching you
under hair so coarse it bruises itself
inside bricks
outside sun
inside someone else
passing over Cairo
a few hours before its birth
without fingers
why
I broke the crystal bird between my legs
fiction me
I’ll fiction you
before ablution.
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin
skin.
//
Sara Elkamel is a journalist and poet, living between Cairo and New York. She holds an M.A. in Arts & Culture journalism from Columbia University. Her writing has appeared in The Guardian, The Huffington Post, The GroundTruth Project, Guernica, Ahram Online, and elsewhere.