Liban, come! My mother took my arm,       
Put her tongue tip out, and licked my skin.
Lying child, you're going to come to harm,
Allah knows the trouble you are in.

Anyway, I swam again; what little care
we had of sharks or drowning, fear of death
was yet unknown. We dared each other where
a ship lay wrecked, and treaded for our breath  
or floated skyward, lifeless, to renew
the energy to make it back to shore.

So then with ocean skin, what did we do?
We learned a trick: We’d enter mosque, before
returning home—wash off the residue.

But when my eyes were red my mother knew.