Haram

my mother was 100 miles south of Death Valley when

Amba Karras grazed her belly

the monastery was modest still

a couple coptic churches peppered

across a few dozen acres of the California desert

O’ Heavenly Father

You are the treasure

Of Goodness and

Giver of Life

life is not safe in Masr

martyrdom is mundane

America is a place where we can pray away from persecution

away from static poverty in service of the Lord

We ask You to grant us

Your peace, our Savior;

Save us

And spare our souls

my father was proud of my skin when I was born

my mother says he showed me to everyone in the hospital

a brown man with a son white as an ostrich egg

the American dream

Lord, look with

Merciful eyes

At my weakness

At my disgrace

And my humility

Amba Karras traced a cross with oil on our wrists and foreheads the last time my father visited the dayr

He tried to kiss Amba Karras’s hand

but the bishop pulled away before his lips warmed meek flesh

we pushed home in hush

Thok-sa-patri Ke ey-you Ke agiyou ep-nevmaty

the sun sunk into my skin by the time i was five

my father felt betrayed

he hated the tint of his own flesh

how it was resurfacing in his kin like a bloated corpse

Amen