Highthrow on smalltown phonelines
for leaving town behind where
they walked their dogs and had cars
we had old shoes that lasted only
till the leaving
we were both new in a place
so damn humid, leaving no less
soaked in sweat and loss
of each other, of shoes
we should have tangled our pairs, us
a lover’s tribute to the other, to
a small velvet ditch we hated/
loved
wore them out, worn where you let go
of my hand when someone saw, worn
sore thumbs to sorority sisters, worn
when I still couldn’t kiss any one
any way, yet
to leave and never want to return
except maybe to look at two pairs
of shoes.
Against a gray and cloudy sky, two pairs of shoes are tied a few feet apart on a telephone wire. The wires stretch across the length of the photo, creating a grid. Photo by Nermeen Hegazi.
Nour sits with their legs crossed. She is wearing black pants, an orange waffle-knit shirt, a purple velvet scrunchie on their wrist, and a gold circle necklace. Their arms are also crossed across their knees. She is wearing red lipstick, and orange makeup on her cheek in the shape of a sun. Her curly black hair is seemingly blowing in the wind, covering one of their eyes. She is smiling against a tan background.
About the Author
Nour Kamel (she/they) writes and edits things in Egypt. Their chapbook ‘Noon’ is part of the New-Generation African Poets series and their writing can be found in Anomaly, Rusted Radishes, Ikhtyar, 20.35 Africa, Sumou, The Shade Journal and Mizna. They helped create and facilitate writing workshops at the Contemporary Image Collective, leading to the publication of The Taste of Letters / طعم الحروف and Our Bodies Breathe Underwater / أجسادنا تتنفس تحت الماء.