You of the moist
eyes and rough mouth.
I glitter like dew for
your gaze and write
Morocco in dust
with fingertips. Sun
finds you flung
across an orchard of
music tapping along
with bare feet in rain
and grass. I never
weep and neither
should you: The birds
know nothing of greed
or the love we
splintered together
in urban streets.
Undressing makes
confetti of the night
and I am a slowly lit
Roman candle that all
the neighborhood
children— sleepy, tipsy
with August— have
gathered to watch burn. |
Hala Alyan is an Arab-American poet who has lived in different regions of the world, spanning from Oklahoma to Beirut. Hala is pursuing her doctoral degree in the field of clinical psychology and currently resides in Brooklyn. She has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and her poems have appeared in journals such as Third Coast, Copper Nickel, and The Journal. Hala’s first full-length collection of poetry, entitled Atrium and published by Three Rooms Press in New York City, was recently awarded the 2013 Arab America Book Award in Poetry.
|
| |
