Poetry By Amy Pugsley

Poetry By Amy Pugsley

By Amy Pugsley

Cairo

It took until 10:30
this morning
for the street dogs
to start barking.
...
Friday morning
quiet and calm
the locals fast asleep
or on their knees at the mosque
the foreigners sip coffee slowly
or ride bikes up and down the empty streets
at noon the chaos begins again.
...
The rain came fast that night
hard drops wet and sticky with pollution
the heavy smell of dirt and washed up garbage
rain happens so rarely
you don’t really know how to feel
about rain in the desert.


H.o.M.e.

isn’t it weird?
that you just left
one day
packing a bag
one day
saying goodbye
leaving.

as the days pass
they pass faster
without control
they pass faster
without you knowing
the foreign food now tastes normal
the weather suddenly agreeable
weeks
months
years.

memories of home become hazy
like a picture warped by water
like a dream interrupted by sunlight
like a fantasy of something exotic
everything begins to
blur
the word home loses meaning
h.
o.
m.
e.

it’s now so far in the past
you almost forget
to talk about it
almost forget
it’s you
nothing is the same
everything is the same
but you
forget.

years and then generations pass
now you say
this is where we are from
this is home
you speak with conviction
your voice cracks
because
you have forgotten
what
home
was
like.

you sit and wonder
are you even allowed to call it home anymore?
nothing and everything is the same
you try to write it down
to bring the memories back
but
your hand....shakes
you forgot
how to spell
home.


(Anti) Social Media

I used to look...
just to see what you were doing
to see...
if things had changed.
I used to look...
out of curiosity
did you move on?

I used to wonder...
just what you were doing,
if you were the same as I remembered you.
Memories would pop up
and
I would check just once
just twice
just every now and then.

I used to look...
just to see what was new
if you had changed
maybe you had a new job
maybe you got bangs?
I used to look
were you looking back at me
or
did you move on?

Every now and then you would flood my memories
our good times, our bad.
I would check just once
just twice.

I would check just once
every now and then
until the day
I never wanted to check again.



Amy Pugsley is a Persian-Canadian international teacher, writer, and poet currently located in Cairo, Egypt.

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