The Battle of the Camel

By SARA ELKAMEL

Camels on the moon art painting

Camels on the Moon, 2021, Mixed media and collage on cardboard. Artwork by Sara Elkamel.

 

Cairo, Egypt

When you’re not looking
I try on your big brown shoes,

pick a spot to run to, practice ducking
from winged pellets on the street—

but the hardwood floors mock me
and creak. Say I was with you,

on a journey to a holy place,
and if we squint we see heaven

            full of light that is disappearing—

Do we forget their prison
used to be a garden?

You feed me dust when I moan
for the dead boys in the garden.

            O, the man! O, the mountain!
O, the young gods of our garden!

The land, the bullet-birds, the navel
            —all full of light that is disappearing.

The young gods walk ahead, as usual.
The camels we thought were dancers
           
            trample my awful song, as usual—

            and in the end we die
and we do not die.

 

Sara Elkamel is an Egyptian poet and journalist living between her hometown, Cairo, and New York City. She holds an MA in arts journalism from Columbia University, and is an MFA candidate in poetry at New York University. Elkamel’s poems have appeared in The Common, Michigan Quarterly Review, Four Way Review, The Los Angeles Review, Memorious, wildness, and as part of the anthologies Best New Poets and Best of the Net, among other publications. She was named a 2020 Gregory Djanikian Scholar by The Adroit Journal, and a finalist in Narrative Magazine‘s 30 Below Contest in the same year. She is the author of the chapbook Field of No Justice (African Poetry Book Fund & Akashic Books, 2021).

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

The Battle of the Camel

Related Posts

Image of the Mississippi River

Dispatch from New Madrid, Missouri

MADELINE SIMMS
After midnight, cottonwoods are inconsequential teeth, ripped from the ground by the Mississippi River. An elm snaps like a bird’s neck: an egret. The current betrays every fluttering heart and rages on. A rock becomes sepulcher to the uprooted nest. The river could be less cruel, the winter, more forgiving.

Image of a tomato seedling

Talks with the Besieged: Documentary Poetry from Occupied Ukraine  

ALEX AVERBUCH
Russians are already in Starobilsk / what nonsense / Dmytrovka and Zhukivka – who is there? / half a hundred bears went past in the / direction of Oleksiivka / write more clearly / what’s the situation in Novoaidar? / the bridge by café Natalie got blown up / according to unconfirmed reports

A Tour of America

MORIEL ROTHMAN-ZECHER
This afternoon I am well, thank you. / Walking down Main Street in Danville, KY. / The heavy wind so sensuous. / Last night I fell- / ated four different men back in / Philadelphia season lush and slippery / with time and leaves. / Keep your eyes to yourself, yid. / As a kid, I pledged only to engage / in onanism on special holidays.