Alexandrians

Lovingly they traced your face, remembering your days, after your death so early

your eyes, they knew –

your face, they knew, would speak across centuries and seas     whisper on and on     from Alexandria’s harbour             Egypt in your youth, Egypt in my youth (were our hopes similar?)

young poet I studied then, young whole words, back-street words: fledgling-hopes, revolution-hopes, down the years        ancient and fresh       echoing from Alexandrian streets

dashed against the rock-black corniche

your smile, almost playful      shadow of a grin     face made up for death

face made up ready to party   (that’s what your lips tell me)

in death our lives go on

The beauty of a mummy case, the soft contours of your body polished wood

cupping a history       revolution-hopes remembering your days      faces in a museum on the street

mirrored in your necklet

flesh in my dreaming         beyond bodies

sister-brother, your face translates beauty

radiant, tentative

your smile knows itself       your smile, sparkling gold       and eyes we know in our memory-sleep