Monday, January 9, 2012

bil salama.

my last morning in libya, and the sky is so blue i want to cry. i want to break off a piece and stir it in my tea. take it home and put it on my dresser. give it to my father and tell him, "here, some libyan sky. it misses you. it says come home soon."

Thursday, January 5, 2012

i danced on the veranda today.

the wind whipped from every direction. rain water puddled in pools around my feet. my aunt told me i was going to die. it was lovely.


is a city torn open,
but not broken.

homes hang from hinges
like bullet-ridden hearts.