we ended up under the cimmerian, gilded lights of the restaurant. you said you’d pay, so I ordered a
whole plate of primrose lobsters and prawns. I dug my glossy nails into its hard-boiled shell. the
color of it — garnet, like my Moroccan lipstick. I separated the meat piece by piece with a fork like
war does to families, a string of grease dripping from it, and swilled it all in one bite.
‘you can’t have the same lobster twice.’

*

poetry is what some might say about the contemporary bible — erased, revamped, and rewritten.
there are many poems I’ve thrown in the bin. I’ll never admit it, but sometimes their discarded lines
echo within me, like old prayers or church-girls’ hymns. could this be what it feels like to miss
somebody?
because I never have.

*

the artlessness of youth, believing my great grandmother would have lived another fifty years. I
haven’t gone back to her apartment. dreading her cocoa scent, the beating of her heart that swells
the air in her vacant room. I never knew her name, just her title, so when i’m hunched at night over
my teal prayer mat, reciting over milky moonbeam rosary beads, I recall last Eid when she
remembered no one
but me.
now it’s the opposite, is this what it feels like to miss someone?
now I know.

*

over a paisley tablecloth, crocheted coasters warm beneath cups of cardamom tea. just my mother
and me by the window screen, june breeze combing through her hair. I stared at her beauty — she
caught me and laughed. I should’ve laughed back, but my gaze fell on her thinning wrists and ankles.
I flinched
at the impermanence of her.
at the impermanence
of it all.

*

once again, we ended up under the cimmerian, gilded lights of the restaurant. you said you’d pay, and
you ordered primrose lobsters and prawns I never asked for. so when they came I picked up the placid
lobster and traced its curved carapace gently, because this time, grief let me know what it feels like
to be swallowed whole.