For Anwar & Hala
We met the doctor but never met him
tall, upright. We found him
twisted by time, his mind a labyrinth,
his wizened smile, a child’s.
We found them serving him;
she rolling grape leaves
into fingers thin as cigarettes –
a toothless man’s addiction –
and he following his father,
a thickly wooded memory.
They stood for him, like the jinn
of Solomon, when he could not stand.
Their devotion to the statue
marked the stature of the man.