I feel this part of myself reemerge, the part that gulps in new sights--
women wrapped in boldly colored printed fabrics
interspersed mosques and churches, minarets and crosses
Masha Allah written on one van, and Jesus Power on another
roadside merchants hawking cashews, apples, flashlights, machetes
I feel the wind and the dust in my hair,
squint at the brightness of an African afternoon.
Traveling this time as a new bride, I Skyped my husband
from the modern comfort of Terminal 3 in Dubai.
Free wireless is (the) one thing I actually like
about that crazy city.
Settling in to the hotel in Dar,
I eat dinner with the delegates from Ethiopia
(where only 6% of women give birth in a hospital or clinic),
then back up to my room to shower and discover:
I've forgotten shampoo, and my pajamas.
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