He is awake when the sun is asleep
The birds’ chirp, executing their dawn choruses
Instructing each other that it’s time to forage
He is also awake, striving to provide for his family

Craving a few more minutes of rest
Verily, he is cognizant of the detriments
He puts on his coat, slowly closing the door
Leaving a subtle creak in the distance

He arrives at a garage in downtown Brooklyn
Where all the pushcarts reside
Picking up freshly made donuts, muffins,
and bagels some of the best he can provide

Exerting a tremendous amount of force,
He strenuously pushes the cart
Far from home he goes,
Praying for his family’s safety while they’re apart

Surrounded by those who sell chicken over rice
And the classic bacon egg and cheese
His daughter calls him and says she arrived at school,
to put his mind at ease

During the winters, work must go on
Putting on layers of clothing before he departs
The truck has fed his family for years
There must be so much essence behind this cart

The grill keeps his overworked palms warm
as the smell of brewing hot coffee fills the air
It makes him feel at home where he’d often drink ‘qahwa’
where the coffee beans are handled with care

How are you able to do all this? One may ask
He replies, there isn’t anything I haven’t done!
I came from Egypt where physical labor is customary
Although most of the jobs I’ve had weren’t always fun
I’ve worked as a merchant
Then came to American and washed cars
I’ve picked fruits and worked on countless farms
It’s evident that each occupation carries its own scar

Creating a safe and loving home
Strength and resilience is what he has shown
Doing everything to put a smile on my face
He recalls everything his mind could possibly trace

The inevitable struggle of an immigrant’s life
He’s endured so much pain to support his kids and wife
Yet he explains waking up at dawn was never a bother
He, is my father