she was five feet.

of concrete.

maps, wait.

they don't love you like i love you.

jay birds sing

and the passing of things.

day nine.

wednesday. may 19, 2010.

-

you are greedy

in the most internal

kind of way, grabbing up 

every snatch of memory,

every bit of joy your 

fingers can grasp.

holding it tight,

building it up 

inside your chest,

keeping it all

for yourself.

you do not want
to share this place.

day eight.

tuesday. may 18, 2010. 

-

there is nothing

like being remembered,

like knowing that somewhere,

sometime, somehow

you left an impression

on someone.

even the round man 

who runs the corner shop,

and never takes your money. 

day seven.

monday. may 17, 2010. 

-

she came and sat,

filled the room with her voice,

filled the yard with her laughter.

her embraces stealing your breath,

her presence spilled out over 

the courtyard walls.

and her sorrow,

her sorrow seeped

all the way 

to the very borders

of tripoli. 

day six.

sunday. may 16, 2010. 

-

she thinks maybe

this is the summer

she'll come into her gift.

if not, she can always

sit on open verandas

and drink tea over

libyan sunsets and

cuts glances from

the corners of her eyes. 

day five.

saturday. may 15, 2010.

-

i wonder 

if he misses his aunts cooking,

or the way his sister slept, one arm

thrown over his back.

or the way his father touched their heads

one after another 

before he left in the morning. 

i wonder if he misses

the way the sun sizzled

before it sunk, blazing,

a nigerian sunset. 

i wonder 

when he calls my aunt mama,

if he curls up at night,

young, so young,

and wishes for home

like an ache. 

day four.

friday. may 14, 2010.

-

the sky was grey today.

and close,

close enough to touch

if only my fingers

stretched that far. 

day three.

thursday. may 13, 2009.

-

jet-lag,

worn-out clothes, 

cross-airport races

and suitcase handle blisters

aside, 

it's so, so good

just to be here. 

day two.

wednesday. may 12, 2010.

-

citizen m hotel

reminds me

of a dream

i had once.

life operated

by remote.

i spent the entire night

making the lights

flash from blue to green. 

reality - checking out, 

please. 

libya in lowercase - volume two, day one

tuesday. may 11, 2010.


-

there is nothing

more confusing 

or frustrating 

or mind-spinning

than saying goodbye,

except saying goodbye

in the middle 

of hartsfield airport's

security check. 

currently: amsterdam

i am safe.

alhamdulillah, alhamdullah.

gratitude for every prayer. much love.

where we were.

and when they entered,

they saw the message

on the walls

"we were here,

and now we're gone

now you are here

and we're alone

just know that we 

waited for you 

while we could,

when we were here. "

she grew up good, she grew up slow.♥.

((couldn't wait to get going, but wasn't quite ready to leave. ))

just something beautiful for you, to pass the time.

much love, much love.

space-holder

they told her to remember that there was more to her than him.

but the thing was, there wasn't.

love feels like

it's like

tripping,

falling,

slipping,

sliding,

wildly,

headfirst,

into you. 

mama say

string along tales of a 

revolution born of 

spit and blood

canada, mama say

one day we go

she told me not to 

leave the house that night

not to leave 

into a darkness

full of screams and 

blackness and 

blood. 

should have listened.