It seems that my need for poetry this month has been directly tied to the state of the world around us… and so as the world gets uglier, I dive deeper into poetry. Poetry is most frequently a balm for me… a soothing salve that eases the bruises of the day. But sometimes poetry is more than a balm… it opens a door, invites me through, and shows me something rare and special.

The poem I selected today was one that I “stumbled” upon Sunday. It seems so very relevant today… I hope you find something rare and special inside this poem as well.

Halal Delicatessen

by Patrick Hicks

after the London bombings of July 7, 2005

The owner who made my falafel was gruff,
my smile and small talk lost in a desert.
But when his son, speaking a language I did not know,
came around the counter and tugged my jeans,
I have him my full attention.
He pointed at meat and salad,
saying the words that made them real.

I got down on one knee and pointed at trays,
which brought a feast of words to his lips.
He reached for my hand,
and tugged me into his kingdom.
Diced apples became tofah, bread was khobez,
he pointed at ice cream, helu, and his eyes bloomed.

If only it were this easy, always.

I thought of him as a grown man, oblivious
to this moment of hime that I will carry.
Later, we might pass each other on the street,
but today, I am the anchor of his universe.

His father wrapped my sandwich and, pausing,
passed two bottles of water into my hands.
“Hot today. You take these.”

His son looked on and pointed, ma’a,
he said, ma’a, of which we are all made.

Patrick Hicks, “Halal Delicatessen.” Copyright © 2009 by Patrick Hicks. First published in The Connecticut Review (Fall 2009).

If you want to know more about Patrick Hicks, you will find his very extensive website here.

Now go see who is joining Bonny today in gathering up some poetry! I will be back on Monday!

**Photo by Nataliya Vaitkevich** 

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