Sara Nabil Hegy with her father. Photo provided by Sara Nabil Hegy

A, B, C, D — here comes December,
Death whispers icy in my ear,
Spreading rumors
That April is the cruelest.
But December brings tormenting memories
Of my fallen fathers.

Almost a decade ago, I was a child,
And now, I’m twelve years an orphan.
Why must a little child bear
The weight of a father’s absence?
Why every year, come December,
Must I bury my mournful rage?

D was never for Dad
But for December-flooded sorrow.
How could I spell, when
Words cast long shadows over what I once had?

Dad?
Can you hear me?
Can my words soar to reach heaven?
Or am I forever trapped down here, a child repeating A, B, C, D?

December’s cold stings bitter.
With you, Dad, it would’ve been different.
But you’re gone,
And I remain an orphan.

With December’s curse, I spent my years 
Composing art from strands of grief, 
Shaded by death’s lurking shadows,
Tinted with a thousand fears. 

Would December dare 
To steal my loved ones again?

What else is December
But a fading ghost of those I cherish?

Dr. Refaat, you made this orphan 
A writer-to-be. 
You were more than a teacher,
You were a literary father.  
The paths you lit, 
The words you taught, 
The souls you shaped,
All abandoned,
When December stole you away.

Now all that’s left is ruins.
The child and the poet, 
Both orphans.

Sara Nabil Hegy with Dr. Refaat Alareer. Photo provided by Sara Nabil Hegy