Published in The Poetry of Arab Women, Nathalie Handal, ed.
Interlink Books, 2001

This summer I caught handfuls of wind
At 65 miles per hour
In Kentucky
And imagined
That the air in my hand
Was laced with orange blossom,
That the billboards were not in English
And that you were next to me.

Your memories are piles of silk:
Colorful and unraveled
In a heap
Like your promises
I keep in a mother-of-pearl box
With the turquoise earrings
You gave me at birth
To ward off evil.

One summer I caught handfuls of wind
At 120 kilometers per hour
In Amman
And imagined
That you were not taking me
To the airport so late in a night
That tasted of whiskey
And that you would be next to me.

Your memories are photographs:
Black and white
On my desk
Like my stories
That I carry with me everyday
With the turquoise ring
You gave me at birth
To ward off evil.