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.