Monday, August 3, 2009

libya in lowercase

I went to Libya this summer to visit my family and wrote a poem for every day gone. This is  libya in lowercase. The first five days.

   - + -

april 10, 2009. friday.

as i make sujud against the back of an airplane seat,
i dream of orange sands and count the hours til i'm there.


april 11, 2009. saturday.

vomiting in a london shopping market
and being asked about morning sickness by a japanese woman
was not how i imagined my vacation thus far.


april 12, 2009. sunday.

london car rides make my head spin in the worst way possible
so i avoid their suggestions about going out
and entertain them with my american novelties.

oh my god. becky, look at her butt.

who the fuck issues a passport that expires in two years?

three more days.


april 13, 2009. monday.

this day, i can already tell,
will be irrelevant in the scheme of things.

i know by the way it stretches out way too long
but by the time i lie down to sleep,
i've already forgotten
most of everything
between now and the time i woke up.

two more days.


april 14, 2009. tuesday.

i’m more comfortable the second i step into the libyan embassy
than i have been for my entire trip to london

i know these people have a sense of kinship with me
that they know about the owul september boys
and their eyebrow smiles.

i wonder when was the last time they’ve been to sabrata
or eaten bazine, as i wait for my passport.

afterward, i wander london with an arab girl
with blue contacts

she asks me if i hate myself and i laugh.

why is she asking me?