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Naya Aljoudi

A Migrant’s Picnic, A Trans Miracle

The Walnut trees are cracking 

from the children's throwing of stones

How wrong were my throws?

How I was thinking of that pretty girl Fawzia..!

And that pretty girl was near me, feeding me nuts and fires

That pretty girl was near me, asking me whether my absence, a presence desires

she ran, so I ran

and my long black hair plucked the daisies

and we soon became one

- To where? she asks

- To you.

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