"Dear Jordan" by Rebekah Shackelford

Dear Jordan,

I’ll miss your morning cigarette

the way you inhale -

Exhale

and smoke swirls as your Turkish coffee boils over.

I’ll miss your busy streets of وسط البلد

the swirl of colors

and your stalls full of ripe fruit

دينار بس، دينار بس!

I’ll miss your hills

that arch and twist

and cause your streets to curve and wander

I’ll miss the shy warmth of your people’s smiles

and the gentle “أهلا وسهلا”

that hangs in the air at the stoops of every home or business you enter

I’ll miss the sounds that fill your city

like the tinny little songs of the propane trucks

and the calming wave of the Call to Prayer

and the comfort in its perfectly timed redundancy

Dear Jordan,

I’ll miss your morning cigarette.

the warmth of your sun

the smell of your morning air

and saying “صباح الخير”

But I know that no matter how far I go, you will still be here

inhaling, exhaling

as smoke swirls and you sip your coffee.