The locals in these damp, colorless lands don’t ask how you are because they don’t care and don’t pretend to. They assume it’s shitty. When asked by tourists or Americans, they might say ugh at best. Or they might vomit. In once grand plazas that are almost ruins, small groups of people sit alone together. Such are the times. Such are always the times. When locals need to enjoy their grief, they go to restaurants with tables set for one. A raspy alto sings such sorrowful songs they weep into their thin, unsalted soup. These restaurants are packed on holidays. To understand this culture, you must eat there alone. There is no menu. They bring what they have. Don’t expect wisdom from your meal. The food will not be good, but it will satisfy if you savor everything placed before you.
Richard Newman is the author of four books of poetry, most recently Blues at the End of the World (Kelsay Books, 2024). His work has appeared in American Journal of Poetry, Best American Poetry, Boulevard, Clockhouse, I-70 Review (featured poet), Innisfree Poetry Journal, Poetry East, Rattle, Tar River Poetry, and many other magazines and anthologies. He currently teaches Creative Writing and World Literature at Al Akhawayn University in Morocco. Before moving to the Maghreb, he and his family lived in Vietnam, Japan, and the Marshall Islands.
