Istiklal Street

Remember the alley.
You are steps beyond me.
The outline of your back,
frayed shirt.
To be able to touch you
without imagining the end.
The nazar in my hand,
I call you back,
but in that city,
under the surface,
ancient layer upon layer,
loss was already
the story we would tell.
You do not hear me
so keep walking ahead.
I am left straddling two continents,
alone among the throng of travelers.


Lynne Cattafi teaches English at a private school in New Jersey. When she’s not teaching her students to love writing poetry and reading books, she enjoys drinking coffee, building Lego cities from scratch with her children, walking her beagle, and reading historical fiction and mysteries. She is a Poetry Reader at Marias at Sampaguitas, and her poetry has appeared in Elephants Never, Marias at Sampaguitas, The Wellington Street Review, and Vita Brevis, among others. She can be found on Twitter @lynnecatt.