Notebooks, textbooks, letters-
I look around, taking stock of what I own.
Half a rented, packed-mud wall, an orange
given to me one hungry week ago by Amal.
A view of the gold dome and flapping clothes
out my window, a few tourist wares and new fears,
like bomb scares, and watching every passenger
on every bus. A few other things I own are packed
in a bag by the door: pieces of Turkish delight and a ticket home.
Pictures of my future-martyred students and a ticket home.
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Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words
