I look for your hair and find it
In the night, holding color,
Amber copper,
After so many years inside an envelope.

And I think of the soul
Making speeches hours ago:

The carpenter
Dying of cancer in a hospital bed
Saying, god, I know
You’ve given me misfortune

But when I get up there
There’d better be a damn
Good reason for it,
I’ve got nothing against trees.

The carpenter thought I was kind
And searched my name tag for a while

Then said: I know your people.
They’re good people, they
Have suffered enough,
And the city is theirs—

The carpenter would be dead by morning.
And why

Did I think your hair
Would have turned white by now?
Like the Mediterranean, frothing at the shore.
And why

You asked for your hair back
Is why I kept it:

Like the city that is only mine
When I’m confused for another.

Fady Joudah