Footsteps in his Dreams

by Sarah Eltantawi

 Dad as a young Egyptian man with the
best brains in the family:
Father dead, mother famous for greasy duck and wistful eyes--
She had three sons, one paralyzed
in a village factory at twenty five.
Mom was scared some years ago,
when dad saw his brother begging
and beat him on the bridge
The oldest peddled away on a mango cart at thirteen,
eating marijuana with a smile to rival the fruit--
Dad came to Newark and walked with the sky
to grey machines and pocket change
walked home on silver snow and found
footsteps in his dreams--
Newark, voted ugliest city in America, 1996

The years past. He managed machines
and talked less. At five I asked him why
he was not smiley man anymore.
He shook his head and made a
clicking sound with his tongue.

Dad, English never took to your clicky tongue
so you'd scream in Arabic and found freedom in your fists.
Dad with the best heart in the family
the world couldn't hear it through your screams
Dad who taught me math till five and went to work at six
I never got it, dad.
Dad on the phone my first year of college,
when my brain broke, when I whispered fragments of words--
you told me you tear the shirt off your back
and send it to me in a plastic bag.

Dad with dreams
rough hands of sand
eyes of oak
Dad who worked and rarely spoke
"My daughter," you said, "hold on to your dreams"