Temple was the jade figurine
around my neck lightly held by
thread the color
of lobster heart.
Worried like misbaha, the same love-
against the pad of my thumb. Oh please let. Oh won’t.
Beirut from the balcony lies
spangled as some sugared fruit.
That citrus smell mantling my bed for days.
Requiem Aeternam dona eis for the men the ocean ate,
swaying on dark ships from the Levant
Allah is pastoral in my hand, soft as flannel,
as the curl of grass across water.
There are fires set in Gaza. Rage is the soup
that keeps some alive.
My aunt arrives tipsy and rapturous,
speaking of love in my grandmother’s kitchen.
We light cigarettes, spoon black olives from the jar.
She pours an inch of whiskey,
shows me her new earrings, a gift. I am wary:
Silver turns green in sun.
That night, I lie watching
dawn beneath the curtains, flinching
from the twinge in my abdomen as muscles stitch
and I bleed.