waiting (for things that will never come)

To the people who were just too far apart to make a connection, no matter how hard each person tried.

This is the third time I’ve had to dial;
this time, the house number.
My father picks up, perks up when he hears my voice
Asks, “where are you now?”
I tell him, “please pass the phone to mom.”

Silence quickly ensues,
and he calls for my mother.
More silence. Eventually,
“She wants to know where you are.”
“Khatib. Can you tell her to come out and fetch me?”

He pauses, a silent question lingering in the air:
‘Am I not good enough?’
But it is ignored, and maybe for a second
I consider asking him to fetch me instead
But it is gone in the same second.
And in that last note a thousand lines could be supplemented instead,
a thousand ways to make up for earlier
“I love you”s or “I’ll see you at home” or
“I bought breakfast” or “I’m going to work tomorrow”
or something, or anything

“Okay,” is the final reply.
I strain to say “by—”
But the line goes dead.

{written on 1 August ’14}

a letter to my future daughter (i)

Dearest;
what breaks like glass cannot
bend like trees. do not be
glass. hiding from lightning
and rain is not an act of
cowardice; it is survival.
there are some battles
meant to be lost, and
darling, it does not mean
you have shattered. pick
yourself up. hold yourself
close. be your own
protector, when I can no
longer hold you myself.

{written on 2 May ’14}