01252011

this is what happens when spirits are communing with spirits in defiance of all intelligible laws of space… time… reason:

i met her at the carwash

sitting on a steel bench

an older lady, she was…

waiting for her car

and i asked if i could share her bench

and sat myself down and waited, too

waited for my baby to be bathed

and massaged and waxed

waited while the wind

played with my hair

and the sun kissed my face and my lips

and she said to me… she said

you are a beautiful lady

and she smiled at me so brilliantly

a smile all white teeth and pink lips

and i smiled back and said thank you

you have a lovely smile

and i went back to watching my car

with a tickle… an itch… inside my heart

when, one minute later

i heard her fumble in her handbag

followed by the heavy feel of

her warm fingers on my arm

fingers that felt pleading… needing

and she said, please

i want you to look at this

and i turned in shock and surprise

because who was this stranger

and why was she touching me

so intimately? as though we

had known one another forever

and ever? it is one thing

to exchange words with strangers

but another entirely to exchange touch

and i looked at her and started

to say something… something like,

please don’t touch me. i don’t know

who you are. i’m supposed to be

anonymous, here. but

when i looked up at her face

i noticed a curious something there

a small something i hadn’t noticed

during the flicker of smiles

exchanged with our brief hello

there… a tattoo of a teardrop

at the corner of her left eye

and here… a photo in her hand

which she now held out

and said to me… again… look at this

and i found myself staring

at an image of a young lady

who bore an unmistakable

resemblance to me

same hair… same eyes…

same teeth… same smile…

is this possible?

and i looked back at the older lady

speechless… my tongue stuck

in the back of my throat

while she said to me

i have been missing my daughter

and i came here today to see her

and she clutched my hand

with her trembling fingers

and my tongue

slowly unraveled itself

slowly… while i watched

mystified

as a real teardrop

slid past the one tattooed

at the corner of her eye

will i ever

be the same again?

will she?

01232011

my beauty

was mutilated 

by its own reflection

stained

by an imperfection

that rested

not upon skin

but within flesh

twisted with calamity

with indecision

and conformity

but now

my beauty

has unveiled its face

and shows itself

shameless

blameless

making a declaration

of i dare you

o, stained mirror

stained

with the rot of time

i dare you

to try and reflect me

not as i truly am

but as who you

would have me be

but

shame on her for daring?

no

shame on me for falling

if

i should waver and stall

01222011

i love breakfast… especially on a saturday morning… when the winter sun is streaming onto our back porch… through our kitchen window… and falling on our breakfast table… and on us... while we feast on warm toast… and cool butter… and orange marmalade… and soft-boiled eggs… and pineapple juice… and coffee… and tea.

on weekends… breakfast is my favorite meal. we can sit at breakfast for two hours… eating… and chatting… and pausing to catch our breaths from all the eating… and the chatting. pausing to catch some of the warmth of the sun… and enjoy the silence of the winter morning… and the peace of knowing that we. are. on. no. schedule.

weekdays… they don’t allow for this luxury. on a weekday… it’s eat and run. the weekday schedule doesn’t permit leisure. life is calling. claiming every morsel of our time. devouring us alive.

that is why breakfast is such a pleasure… on a saturday morning.

and breakfast is also a pleasure… on a saturday morning… because it means that there is still sunday… for toast… and tea… and you… and me.

01192011

lovely days. yesterday. and today.

a big sun in the sky… shining brilliantly… in daytime.

a solid burning… persistent warmth… in the afternoon.

soft balminess… coolness… in the evening.

midnight blue… pierced with diamonds… at night.

and this, after two straight weeks of fog and frost and rain. two weeks of dreary dreary sky.

how does the sun know when i can take her absence no more? how does she recognize… one morning… that it’s time for her to show herself… or else… i might just fall to pieces… get siphoned into the endless spiral of grey?

i don’t mind rain. i love rain. i love that it’s water. i love its rhythmic sound as it falls. pitter patter. pitter patter. i love the violence of rainstorms. but… i detest… grey. it’s my least favorite color. so seemingly neutral. yet… with so many shades. a trickster!

the mood of the sky affects so intensely how i feel inside. when the sky is feeling melancholy… i am melancholy, too.

and so… i sit here… on this mild and beautiful afternoon… listening to cecilia bartoli sing gelido in ogni vena… thinking to myself… nothing is gelido today… because… how stunning is the sky! how stunning are tears when they flow and then rest! how stunning is human emotion! how fragile… how rash when challenged! and yet how discreet… how hushed when satisfied!

oh, what delicious flights of thought!

01172011

she told me i have the most beautiful hands

she has ever seen. so elegant and graceful

with long fingers and perfect fingernails

always polished and beautiful, she said

and i smiled at her and said, thank you

with gratitude because that is what we do

when we receive a compliment, isn’t it?

compliments evoke in us a certain sense

of… yes… gratitude… isn’t it?

but she read in my smile another meaning

a meaning that she wanted to read

a meaning intended to confirm to her that

i am accepting your true intention

and i saw in her eyes

i have been wanting

but not seeking

and now i have sought

and i have found

and my smile crumbled from around my teeth

like aged cheese beneath the strike of a mallet

and this was not a crumbling evoked

by shock at her presumptuousness

but by horror at my own naïveté

01162011

it is raining outside.

it is cold outside.

it is winter outside.

but in my heart…

it is eternally spring.

01142011

when the light of the world

becomes too much for me

i run… escape… plunge

into the darkness

into that place

where i can't see

but i can hear

my voice speaking

saying things

that sometimes

i don't want to hear

and it tells

and i linger

and i listen

and i learn

and though 
this is a painful task

arduous 
singeing

burning

i emerge 
from the darkness

filled with light

because

truth is painful

but even so

truth is queen

01122011

i was chatting with a lady, yesterday. a lady i don’t know very well. maybe it was her sense of anonymity that gave her the courage to open up to me. maybe it was her profound need to open up to someone. but we got to chatting about life. about love. about… unrequited love. as she spoke, the tears sparked in her eyes. and she said, he and i can never be together. and inside my heart, i knew that she asked herself: how will i ever survive this without losing my mind?

forbidden love is… obsession. it is implicit to us humans to desire and crave… unto insanity… what we know we can’t have. 

01102011

today. on my first day back at school. i cried.

you see.

once upon a time. when i was a child. a long time ago. on my first day ever of school. when it was time for my mother to drop me off at the classroom door and leave. i cried. with a primal abandon. i cried because i didn’t want my mother to go. i was afraid, it seemed, of the parting. and the starting.

and, every year on my first day of school: in first grade. and second grade. and eleventh grade. and twelfth grade. and in college. every year, on the first day of school, i cried. and i resigned myself, over the years, to the thought that the crying was about the parting. and the starting. because. so it seemed.

and today. on this first day of my final journey in school. again. i cried. i caught myself at the doors to the lecture hall. with stinging, blinding tears in my eyes. tears. stinging. blinding. while i fumbled in my handbag for a tissue to dry my tears. my fingers seeking a shroud to hide the naked outburst. and it finally dawned on me. all these years later. on this last leg of the journey. that the tears, all along, were not about parting. or starting. all along. the tears were about: uncertainty.

01072011

how close to the end
of that long road
i felt, this morning
as my house door
clicked shut
behind my departure
to my very last day
of that old journey
seemingly never-ending
while all the time
it was a stepping stone
to the true, new journey
my heart has desired
for time immemorial
the true, new journey
my soul has known
and recognized
but never quite
verbalized
for fear of breaking
conformity
for fear of breeding
selfishness
but in this world
where giving is a beatitude
and taking is a sin
i said today
is my day for taking
sin
win
take
or die trying

i have given
in time past
and today
i am taking
and one day
in time coming
i will give
once again

01052011

there is an infernal pleasure in withdrawing into a private world… in letting your fantasies take over… whether those fantasies be light or dark. it is the pleasure of being your own creator… your own god… of experiencing no resistance to your exercise of dominance… power.

in this world we share… this world we have in common… this world of you and me… your reality limits me. and the opposite is true. i may choose to transgress the limits imposed by your presence... your reality. but… so long as i’m intent on retaining the human perspective… i experience this choice… my act… as a transgression.

but.

in my private world… where fantasy reigns… there are no transgressions. only the delicious flight of license.

01032011

on a dark

and silent night

i am alone

in a light

that does not feel

or emote

but hovers over me

and glares

harshly

starkly

clinically

while saying

look me in the eye

and tell me, nevine

have i blinded you yet?

01022011

this morning

and after the initial

celebration

intoxication

over new beginnings

on this second day

after the mind has had

its “but, then…” moments

…

a vacuum

no… not a vacuum

a pinch… an owie

inside my heart

where home should be

home

not as in “house”

but as in “cairo”

the dust the smog

the jasmine the roses

the beautiful faces

of my sweet people

smiling

even when there is nothing

really

to smile about

...

cairo

like a tattoo

forever branded

not upon

but beneath

my skin

...

how to find comfort?

in which womb

do i seek the bliss

that is found only

in the amnion of home?

... 

o my eternal mother

how i thirst for you!

01012011

today

another beautiful day

another beautiful year

in this beautiful life

and i intend

to squeeze from it

all the beauty

that i can

and drink that nectar

unto intoxication