Nesreen
And like any Eastern woman,
My lady was
Filling her night’s dish with stars,
And visiting the shrines
Of the saints with a candle
And garments of green.
She perfumes her house each Friday
With incense that she crafted
To avert the evil eye.
From the pumpkin flower,
Nesreen,
A single morsel
That gave life to many years,
And a second life to the act of living.
A chain of clay, recording the histories of women
Of the bloom’s own color.
She sketches joy
Amidst the darkness
To rouse the dawn,
And fashions upon her lips
Alternate languages for yearning
In a sea of nostalgia.
Nesreen,
Just as I came to you a captive,
I will leave you today,
Sad.
