Portside

Where the N Train Stops

By Belal Mobarak

Home is where

I told the landlord, “I won’t live with my parents; I’m only here to translate”
My tongue mispronounces my name.

The cool kids ask, “Yo, where the fuck you from?”
Queens
“Nah son, I meant what country you from.”
Egypt
“Oh, oh you African? You just like us!”

Home is

5G, 1A, 3C, Eviction Notice, Third Floor, Apt 2
Where
A social worker asked, “How do you afford that phone then?”
My father left us

Home is

Seeing the same cool kids sit in the back of the bus
so I loosened my belt and joined

Where

I prayed no cops stood by the turnstile today

Home is

Free refills until we get thrown out
Watching Fat Joe licking the sole of his sneakers on MTV
The 2000’s
Tooth-brushing my fresh Uptowns
Wearing white T-shirts the size of abayas but never wearing abayas
Where the N Train stops
Thinking Nas is Egyptian because I loved his music

Where

My grandmother visits because the radiator keeps her warm in winter
Egypt is not what National Geographic says

And my mother tells me,

“Home is where my children are.”

Belal Mobarak was born in Alexandria, Egypt. Raised in Queens. He is the middle child and the son of a great storyteller. Writing is how he learned to finish his stories and poetry is how he learned to tell them with the least amount of words possible. Recently selected as a finalist in Brutal Nation’s Competition for Writers of Color. You can find his work published in Columbia Poetry Review, Newtown Literary, Blueshift Journal, Flock, Apogee, HEart, and others. He currently works for Higher Education in New York City. You may find more of his work at Belalmobarak.com/poetry.