The stillness of morning, fog floats upon the soft water Before the weight of the day settles. A moment of peace brings contentment, Spending a little more time just breathing. Lungs fill with air and exhale warmth. The body radiates under the covers To envelop the mind with comfort, Prior to the sun’s rising.
I am a cynic. The more palatable way to describe my mind’s state is realistic. Either way, optimism doesn’t come easily to me. Maybe it is my anxiety that makes me this way, causing me to constantly think of worst case scenarios. Most times, I don’t want to see the good. I would rather remainContinue reading “A Grateful Cynic”
I am a prize that men can win. I am a game, no say in rules. I am to respond with body, When they call me beautiful. Tightly I hold the woman’s hand. Understands the itch of anger, That crawls beneath our women skin. She felt the hand of man grip her To strangle herContinue reading “Prized”
A voice lilts with each phrase of the Qu’ran, pausing on certain words and then suddenly dropping off at the end of a verse. Silent pauses give way to a foreign tongue of Arabic words knit together by a scribe who has spent his life memorizing the book. Bismillahi rahmani rahimi.
The nervous laughter echoed down the streets of Meknes as we walked to our unknown fate at the hamam. The baths of Morocco, a common practice for women and men here and a challenge for Americans.
A silver teapot with floral engravings sits on the counter in my Seattle apartment overlooking Lake Union. Picking up the metal teapot evokes memories of my time in Morocco. My thoughts smile at the memory of haggling the price from 600 dirhams down to 70 dirhams at a little shop in the marketplace. The medina’sContinue reading “Atay bi Nana”
Hold out your hand. Examine the creases of your well-read book Watch the soft winkles travel, patternless. Think each line is a lie told.
Your face was electrified by the twitches Working out the uncertain wrinkles. Captivated by your wavering voice The rise and fall in confidence.
Unfurling my clenched fist Hand turns facing downward One by one each finger reaches out. Hand floats to dewy ground Uncertain of its solidity.
Rough edges carved of earth Fingers trace the icy tops As sun rays pour heat.