My Intended has permanently moved.

say this with me

Gul ma'ee

Save my prayer,
I can't leave it behind
it is my life
and my world breathes it.

a market of unwanted souvenirs

Tables of already-chewed gum and plain women (the men of her heart have been married off). Engagement rings are pawned off here for a dime or less, some pennies. And copper rings, and rings with missing diamonds (because diamonds are not forever).

Old revenge in a jar and orange rinds and dented teaspoons (the baby has outgrown them). And footsteps in snow that have long since melted into the ground. And mended socks too grotesque to be worn. A heart too misshapen to be sold as is.

Pencil shavings, shavings of her heart (boxed away and labelled knick knacks). And the bridesmaid's dresses with no women left to wear them - they've all been chewed.

zero

Waiting in my sleep, waiting

for something more than salty-sweet
taste buds to dance together
without a mahram.

Longer than waiting for wisdom teeth
or for paper cut scabs to heal-
it's more than waiting for henna
to fade from sweaty palms
or red lollipops to shrink in mouths
(for the bubble gum inside).

More than waiting for a plate of rice
and chicken soup to stop twirling in the microwave.
or for snow to build
a defunct snowman without a head.

Waiting, waiting,
Zero is so sad.

campus autumn

1

He doesn’t have a beard
but calls my name on Harbourd
while I listen to a nasheed
and walk to poetry.
Pale yellow leaves crunch
underfoot while my mind flies
with pigeons
into the mouths of Egyptians.
He waves
and his stubble beams at me.

I wandered off the sidewalk into
oncoming traffic with a mind, absent
as usual. For a moment
I thought the trees were on fire.
but they were only red
and little cherry-coloured flowers
grab my fingers and ask me to play
ring-around-the-rosy.

2

The sun is singing nasheeds with me
and twirling around the sky,
playing ring-around-the-rosy with flowers.

And spurts of grass, green and gangly
sip sun-tea while
he calls me to prayer, to success.
The voice of the muathin dances in my throat,
a melody that makes my ears smile.

Eating in Class

I have a sandwich bag
with some chocolates in it.
the chocolates are old, about 6 months
but they'll do for diversion in tedious class.
Coconut and quotations,
hazelnuts and notes
and olde english
chocolates
crawl down my throat
and set up camp in my belly.

I have a sandwich bag
with cereal bits in it.
Maple flavour
explodes between my jaws,
scatters in my mouth,
saliva hugs the carbohydrates.
Gruesome memories to end
murderous class material.

I have a sanwich bag
with an apple in it.
Not unhealthy?

I'll save that for later.