Poetry

To Cairo

Late night train from Luxor

A stop, not for tourists

Villagers, some wailing in burqas

Get on. A tortured man hoisted in hand.

His foot brushes my sleep fending body.

Eyes open. A prayer whispered

Please help me not get sick.

—

Enough

Do you think it’s been enough?

What you’ve done for this guy

His smart watch and ironed cuff,

A white shirt and daring tie.

On a counter near the sink

You grab another flower

Set it with green leaf and pink

Together in the vase an hour

Bunch them up then change them again

One branch too long, one too stout.

Not very complex they say about men

Yet a girl never knows how it will turn out.

Then he walks in and gazes at you

Taking out one stem, “I burn for you, too.”

—

Levantine Cuisine

Hair hid behind the hijab.

A cross around another’s neck.

Two women share their secrets

Of home learned recipes. And

The Egyptian didn’t know the Syrian’s

Levantine cuisine.

The next day American women

Turn off the news in disgust.

And one says to the other

Arabs are all terrorists.

—

A Red Towel and a Teal Couch

Two rooms:

a kitchen and a living.

Two needs:

a towel and a couch.

She pulls up her hair in a bun,

A clump falls out, she sticks it back in.

The funds are scarce,

but what about the aesthetic?

And the savings account,

but what about thrift?

At the designer store

she buys a red towel.

At the discount store

she buys a teal couch.