ANTHEM WITH EMERALD AND GOLD
Sing me an Arabi song you know—the one
where wind and love
mean the same—song of the sugary night
and tray upon golden tray
of minty tea—the song of my baba
poised over a boiling breek—
song of the ’87 benz with his scent
of coffee black and marlboro
old spice—cardamom song
of mamas and babas
still together—
the stolen kitchen kiss—that song where we lay
still together
amid the olive groves
and the air is thick with possibility
while off somewhere the babas smoke
and the mamas read fortunes
in blue ceramic cups—in the shapes
their kahweh leaves—
where the hometown girl lights up
like an emerald
when the lovers are hoisted up
in two white chairs
and the lovers are us—
the one where the diva sings
I don’t want to fall in love
and she really means I do—
DARK ROOMS
I was five years old
suspended between fire and water
when you showed to me in the magazine the bodies
and sat in the secret dark while the party went on
loud outside without us
I remember when I would touch
my own body
I didn’t know
I had a body
I could only see it from above
suspended in the speckled ceiling
a blackbird watching
the sinister tangling of shadow
that you consumed
a magazine, a memory
is this why
I inspect the women
the how shapes of their collarbone
and the way they breathe in the night
and is this why
I suspect the parties
why I can never seem to relax when there’s
dancing and darkness
is this why
I can’t believe sometimes I have a body
like the propelling ribs of a magazine
like the black and white twist of navel
how it stands slender and woman
in these elastic rooms of prayer
where the strangers cast wishes upon me
a reeling explosion
in the infinite dark you made
Jessica Abughattas is an American poet of Palestinian heritage. Her latest work has been published or is forthcoming in BOAAT, Muzzle Magazine, Thrush Poetry Journal, The Journal, Tinderbox, Literary Hub, and elsewhere. She holds an MFA from Antioch University and lives in Los Angeles.
The Boiler 