Ahmed Zaid

The Friday of Anger

I miss Mahmoud                 pure confidence

his uneven eyes                          

     one awake

one sleepy                                  one praying

the other preying                             it rained

bullets bodies dropped                 on ground

he screamed                                 his scream

shook conference rooms      loaded agendas

thinking tanks                         the guns cried

the dead                          we pillowed bricks

in the middle                      of highway  time

a stretchable shirt                             that day

tomorrow seemed                                so far

unreachable                      all we had was us

from bricks                        to van to mosque

to the apartment            we sat speechless in

that vacuum                               that nothing

how moments                          folded neatly

settled in cabinet         it must be my mother

folding me                           with her prayers

Ahmed Zaid was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to an Egyptian father and Yemeni mother. Growing up, he oscillated between Egypt & the United States. He is a Poet and a Soccer Coach. His work rustles with the double-consciousness of Arab Americans and the blurs of undefined/warful home.