Your loofa hangs beside mine, untouched I leave it there a small, soft witness Your towel still drapes the hook I haven’t washed it Not out of hope, just habit, or something like it I can’t tell if your ghost softens the ache or keeps it alive Do
On love, community and friendship “I’m not ready” “That’s ok. I’ll wait” A love letter “Your pace matters more than my desire” There is no urgency “I’m here with you” This is enough for now “You can take your time here” Tender defiance
Mahmoud Darwish was one of the most influential Arab poets of the modern era and is widely regarded as the poetic voice of the Palestinian people. Born in 1941 in the village of Al-Birwa in Palestine, Darwish's life and poetry were deeply shaped by exile, displacement, and the
I learned to breathe underwater in rooms where grief had swollen the walls. Along the way I mistook the weight for purpose, the darkness for depth I entered other people’s nights, fearlessly like a diver with bare hands, tugging at their strings of light a pearl lodged in the
Chicken was, by most reasonable standards, a very good dog. She was not, despite her name, a chicken. She was a small, scruffy thing with ears that flopped down, and a tail that behaved like it had its own opinions about everything But when she was a puppy, she had
Samuel was not a wizard, nor a genie, or any other kind of magical creature, as far as anyone knew. He was a shopkeeper. His shop: nestled between a bakery that always smelled of warm anise and the best parts of childhood, and a tailor who hummed endlessly as he
Kinship with crows I’ll miss my gluttonous, russet tailed friend who stuffs his furry cheeks with the peanuts on the porch like a plush little monarch I’ll miss my flighty starlings who sing their throaty constellations before I perceive the sun break in the morning. I’ll miss
The match hisses thumb raw from striking. Paper curls, slow surrender. I suck the spark like I’m stealing breath from a dead man’s chest. You always said I inhale like a rookie, all throat, no grace. Here’s proof. Fingertips jaundiced, this yellow I scrub at dawn with
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