Mornings in Baghdad

I remember when I was maybe eleven

I had to wake up as early as seven, rush to the neighborhood baker

He made our street smell like heaven

The fresh bread gives me warmth on my morning walk

And a lady sitting in the street

selling something to eat

Breakfast routine that I love to remember

Memories of early December

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Poet, making sense of war, humanity, love and greed. Trying to find the magic in ordinary things. I am Zee

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