Marketplace

There's a day that sits sixty-seven days back now, held for me in the smell of grilled meat on stone. Five of us were in a room in Amman, the city where I live, friends who share the work of caring for people and for each other. We were sketching something we couldn't quite name yet, tired in the same way, the kind of tired that comes from carrying what matters. We didn't finish it that day. We just started.