My Queer Ramadan 

by Amal Amer

I pray with my family for the first time in six years while wrapped in a keffiyah I scavenged from a dumpster. (...)

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artwork: “Angels go out at night too” by Chloé Luu >

You can now watch the AWID Feminist Film Club program “Feminist Embodiments of Hope and Power” - a film series on Feminist Realities from the SWANA region curated by Esra Ozban

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Rights at Risk Resource Library

A living collection of resources to support feminist movements, policy-makers, and allies to resist fascisms, fundamentalisms, and anti-rights trends.

We are living in a world where the destruction of Nature fuels our current global economy.

For a thorough analysis, we must apply every tool at our disposal…

About the authors

لويز ماليرب، مبرمجة أفلام وقيّمة معارض وناقدة أفلام مقيمة في برلين. عملت كمبرمجة أفلام لجمعية متروبوليس للسينما في بيروت. حاليا تنسق لويز مشروع ريل ستريمز الذي يهدف إلى دعم نشر السينما المستقلة في المنطقة العربية. هي رئيسة قسم البرمجة لمهرجان صورة السينمائي، وهو مهرجان أفلام كويرية يركز على منطقة جنوب غرب آسيا وشمال أفريقيا. تكتب لويز النقد السينمائيين لـ مانيفستو XXI، وقد بدأت مؤخرًا تنظيم الأفلام والمهرجانات لسينما عقيل.

We have partnered with Global Voices for a special series of pieces for Pride Month 2023 (include music, video, and stories!) engaging with the intersectional issues that queer individuals and communities face around the world.

On Wednesday a note arrives
with an address on the back.

    5 pm, tonight.

The handwriting on the invitation—
coily and brusque—
I’ve seen it five times in five years.

My body rouses,
feverish.

I need to fuck myself first.

The tide is high tonight and
I get 
off.

I want to slow everything down,
taste time and space, etch them 
into memory.

*

I’ve never been to this part of town before.
Unknown places excite me,
the way limbs and veins and bones
resist decay, 
their fate uncertain.

At the door, I think twice.
The hallway is pitch black 
and it makes me pause.

On the other side,
a portal of smell and color 
opens like a curse,  
into a sunny afternoon.

The breeze
makes my hair dance,
piques its curiosity,
compels it to move.

I hear the wheelchair whirring, 
shaping the shadows.
Then I see them:
a lynx face
and a body like mine
and I find myself desiring both
again.
 
The creature motions me closer.

Their gestures write a sentence;
as I move toward them,
I notice its details:

    wither, flesh, bliss

On their command, the vine that covers the hallway
hugging warm stones,
snakes up the wall.

It becomes a verb,
“to climb,”
and I’m reorientated when their claws point 
to the vine-bed in the center.

I hear the wheels behind me, 
then that sound. 
It reverberates
like no other.
Their long black wings
elevate toward the ceiling
then they lunge forward.

The feline vision scans every detail,
every change,
every longing.

Can desire liquefy your muscles? 

    Can it act sweeter than the strongest 
of tranquilizers?

A lynx sews the world
across our differences,
weaving lace around my knees.

Can desire crush the distance of the world, 
compressing the seconds?

They come closer still,
lynx eye meeting human eye,
sniffing the air,
turning body into
urgency.

They beat down their wings.
Stirred,
the vines tangle around my waist/waste.

Their tongue thins time,
shifting grounds,
soothes, with their magic,
what stirs beneath.

    I see the world in you, and the 
world is exhausted.

Then they plead:

    Let me feast on you.