I repudiate my tambourines,
dance no more
at anyone’s washing away.
Egypt, I name you –
not place of plagues and villains,
but hope of dreamers like Joseph,
and women who kneel their conspiracy
to save babies,
home for the old age of jeremiahs,
shelter for refugees —
all of them — holy families, and toddlers —
every one, so like Jesus.
Egypt, place of poetry and conflict,
Arab spring and election,
coup and clash and demonstration,
Peace upon you,
in these violent days the world watches,
and in the long Nile
from hieroglyph to twitter
that tells your many, many stories.
I write only from my own tradition, the Christian one, and from far away, watching, weeping, praying.