It could have been an ordinary Friday
like the ones we used to have three years ago
for example
searching for spilled water on the floor
to prevent trouble at home
Maybe the annoying voice of the imam
would make you decide not to go to that prayer
just collecting the house’s blessings instead
Or the extra salt in the food
might open a gate to breaking our family’s bond
It could have been an unusual Friday
like the one I spent alone two years and months ago
praying
then coming to your grave
and exchanging words
I talk without stopping
and you listen without replying
then silence
I return home carrying
the remains of a rose
one that spring would have touched
if only it hadn’t been born in a cemetery
It could have been a Friday
with you in it or without you
I could have cried more
by the doorstep
whenever I felt the certainty of your absent voice
I could have slept that night
chewing on my sorrow
swallowing it
thinking it would get stuck in my throat
only to be caught later
by your voice
I could have died that Friday
if I had left the house early
the rocket falling on me
shattering my body
and then we’d meetI could have spent
an unusual Friday
on the gravestones
dusting off the ashes to see
your name
and weep
