december

Last December
marked another year burned.

But today, it is the day of Arafah
and I asked for the ashes of my heart
to be brought back,
cleansed, prepared.

It is raining,
a sermon on this mountain-
a farewell,
and a knowledge that His promise is never broken,
heaven readies herself.

And His face,
closer this December.

“And paradise will be brought near to the righteous, not far off. This is what you were promised, for everyone who turned (to God) in sincere repentance and kept (His law). Who feared the Most Merciful in secret and brought a heart turned in devotion (to Him). Enter it in peace, this is the day of eternity.” (Qaf: 31-34)

the flood

My heart dried, was dusted with sand
in the drought of youth

Then it rained in my town
and they sounded the horn-
a warning of a coming flood.

I hid behind sacks of sand in my home
but the water seeped into the basement
and muddied my floors.

I wandered the lands
knee-deep in watery defiance,
and time whispered secrets of
where I could stop for air
on the long road towards dry land.

Age smiles and takes my hand,
the water rises to my chest.
My heart gets wet in the rain.

unexpected

a spike on a graph
dances slowly with
little sara in a pink dress
whose father has died.

her heart on a graph,
sputters as she donns
black dresses and pain
or a heart constricted, choking fear

the pit of a date, unexpected
spit out, with hearts
between sheets of stained white cloth-
a man sings death songs.

unexpected heart,
a horizontal line
stretched across a beating screen.

identity sketch

Today is February and my hands are closed. But my hands are writing, counting the days until the end of the month. Twenty-eight days of questions and the searing pain of hot yam flesh on my knuckles.

I remember a man in spectacles. He told me I was a blurr of something, and he couldn’t quite tell if it was beautiful or not.

Today is December and the cold stings.

Used tissues lie on my desk, I am not well. The clarity of my vision takes a break for tea and mint, leaving me with blurry images. Have some coconut oil with your pita bread, the olive oil is in the kitchen where I cannot reach it. And honey, would you like some tea with your tears?

recording loss

I am a little girl,
carrying a wooden crate of doubt
against my chest.

The wooden chips crumble, splinter
penetrate her skin perpendicular

he scratches at the pale surface
and runs red into the box of doubt
I carry against my chest

He tried to tack a picture up on the wall last night
but I, invisible
stood in his way
and he drove the nail into my heart.

the anatomy of recording loss:
a rusted nail through the chest

a glimpse of his hands bringing out
a book promising repair

his lip is scarred,
a smile skewed to the left

the anatomy of recording failure:
a hole puncher through the chest

asymmetry

a girl frets,
chews on butterflies
and the tips of her hair.

her flinstone vitamins didn’t know
the same body they fed
would later feed on sin.

doubt grows exponential-
the body of loss never dies,
but hungers for her mind

a girl frets,
chews on her eyelashes
and the tips of her fingers

Allah knows

my heart had a visitor today,
grasping wilted flowers in his hands
it took him longer to get here
than planned

I gathered trampled petals
from an empty garden
wet and soft in my palms,
breathing memories of a softer past

secret glimpses into his words:
a man with the softest palms
leads me by the hand to
paradise.

trash pick up

I am a cup of yogurt,
fruit on the bottom blueberry-
artificial sweetness
and bad aftertaste.

I am a short, white
receipt from the library, telling her
she is late
returning her books.

I am a blue mug with a red flower
etched in my side, holding tea in my belly
and washing down
a difficult day.

I am lukewarm tea spilled
from a blue mug onto a short white receipt.
I am mopped up.
I am thrown out.

with an empty cup of yogurt.