* I wake up and see them staring at me. They leer, and follow me persistently as I get up and move away from the window, covering it with the curtains. Their owners call at me, asking for “mosa3ada”. Come on, little girl, give me something. Anything.
* They have always been lined heavily with black kohl. They overflow with fiery warmth, and they’ve always looked at me with tenderness. Every morning they were hovering over the old blue-green sideboard, as the ringed hands arranged assorted cups and made delicious tea.
* Two eyes reflect the beam from my flashlight in the dark. One is a clear bright yellow, the other a gruesome bulging purple mass. I descend the metal stairs and they follow me. I hear a meow, telling me to wait for them as I move away with the light, leaving them behind.
* Many pairs look at me, frozen behind the glass. One is twinkling with humor. Their owner is much changed now, but their twinkle has never dimmed. Another hasn’t been here for a long time. They are smiling, next to the ones that came and took them away. There are three pairs in this frame, a graduate flanked by her mother and father. All are glowing with pride. This pair is looking calmly at their photographer. I have only known them through the glass.
* I don’t have to look at them to know they’re around – they’ve always been around, even when they’re not really there. When I do look at them, I see my own looking back at me.
* Running around, laughing at the dark, then came a loud WHAM, a sharp pain in my head and two cries. As we moved to a room that had working lights, one of the pair of eyes was starting to swell, blackening.
* My gaze never really lingered on those before, but they’ve been brought sharply into focus after the death of my grandmother. Perhaps they were eclipsed by their fiery companions. Now they are blank, and their iris encircled by grey. They meet mine and no light flares in recognition. I gaze at them all the time now, but too late.
Allah ydeek al3afia ya jiddo.
October 27, 2012
* They have always been lined heavily with black kohl. They overflow with fiery warmth, and they’ve always looked at me with tenderness. Every morning they were hovering over the old blue-green sideboard, as the ringed hands arranged assorted cups and made delicious tea.
* Two eyes reflect the beam from my flashlight in the dark. One is a clear bright yellow, the other a gruesome bulging purple mass. I descend the metal stairs and they follow me. I hear a meow, telling me to wait for them as I move away with the light, leaving them behind.
* Many pairs look at me, frozen behind the glass. One is twinkling with humor. Their owner is much changed now, but their twinkle has never dimmed. Another hasn’t been here for a long time. They are smiling, next to the ones that came and took them away. There are three pairs in this frame, a graduate flanked by her mother and father. All are glowing with pride. This pair is looking calmly at their photographer. I have only known them through the glass.
* I don’t have to look at them to know they’re around – they’ve always been around, even when they’re not really there. When I do look at them, I see my own looking back at me.
* Running around, laughing at the dark, then came a loud WHAM, a sharp pain in my head and two cries. As we moved to a room that had working lights, one of the pair of eyes was starting to swell, blackening.
* My gaze never really lingered on those before, but they’ve been brought sharply into focus after the death of my grandmother. Perhaps they were eclipsed by their fiery companions. Now they are blank, and their iris encircled by grey. They meet mine and no light flares in recognition. I gaze at them all the time now, but too late.
Allah ydeek al3afia ya jiddo.
October 27, 2012
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