Dream of return / A Hot Morning in Al-Riyadh

Dana Mirghani

Dream of Return

I am back in the house.

I run across the marble living room,
up the creaking, winding wooden staircase,
past the chandelier
that centers our two stories,

take a left,
straight through Baba Shehab's front door.

smell that distinct aroma
of their kitchen,

shoot into Salih and Yousif's room,
sit under the bunk bed,
and rest on Yassin's shoulder.

I weep and I weep,
and he taps my back.

A Hot Morning in Al-Riyadh

It is a hot morning in Al-Riyadh,
Khartoum.

Gunshots echo in the distance.
The red sky spills in
through my window.

I wake up earlier than I should,
anticipating the driver
won't be taking me to school.

I step out of my room.

Saba7 An-Noor Haboba, I say.
Habibat Haboba, she says.

She's preparing tea
for our breakfast.

I sit beside her,
check my phone,
which doesn't seem to work.

I dial Yahia and then Leen,
but the government has cut the internet.

I'd downloaded Spider-Man 3 and 4
in case the internet cut.

After I drink my tea,
I run up the winding wooden staircase,
past the chandelier,
into Baba Shehab’s apartment.

My cousins are still sleeping.

I slip into their kitchen,
where the landline is.

I'd discovered before
that when the internet is cut,
the landline remains with one call.

I dial my lover's number.

Hey, are you okay?
Yeah, I'm fine.
We're all here, we're all fine.

I feel like they can hear us,
so I hang up.

I selfishly stole the last call.

I rummage through the pantry,
dodging Indomie packets,
Nesquik, Baskaweet Royal,
until I find a circular tin of Nilo.

I make myself a tall glass.

I check the fridge.
It stinks of braided cheese.

The Cabo has been replaced
by fresh goat's milk.
It's cheaper.

There's a jelly dessert
that sits uneaten.

The boys haven't discovered it yet.