children of medina
pick up locusts by their wings, twirling
and inspecting their speckled translucency
until an elder scolds and flicks the insect away. they
pitter-patter and glide across cool marble between
prayers. frolic freely,
zig-zag through tight lines of worshippers pressed
shoulder to shoulder, foot to foot.
leap under and over the candy-cane striped tape
like it’s an invitation,
waddle with confidence even after slipping
on a puddle of zam-zam.
babies with saccahrine smiles and
sticky fingers tug at parents, who
rest in the rhythm of recitations like incantations.
here, children once sang for the Prophet in jubilation,
white moon rising above and
the city remembering this, serenades us all.
she swaddles us like a mother cradling
into the crook of her arms until we submit,
the worries of this world fading into a faint dream.
we softly drowse.
