In Her Feminine Sign

I read that flamingoes
have migrated back to Iraq
after a twenty-year absence,
and I bend my head,
imitating the perfect,
half-hearted Valentine
shape they make in pairs.
I wait for you
at the lake’s edge
standing on one leg.
The moon I swallow
when I open my beak
and fly home to you
will be full

he was dead to her, or if
she means she was dead
without him

We are not dead,
and those are not our ghosts

I am the child who ran
seeking the hidden one –
she screamed for them to come out
or else she would quit the game

THE WAR IN COLORS
The digital map on the wall
displays American wars
in colors:
Iraq in purple
Syria in yellow
Kuwait in blue
Afghanistan in red
Vietnam in green.
The war
on the map
is beautiful

and keeping their distance
means death for them both

When a challenge happens,
killing offers the easiest solution

Here you have plants and no time to water them.
There you have time and no plants to water

As Leonard Cohen said, ‘There is a
crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.’

The street vendor offers tourists
necklaces with divided hearts,
seashells to murmur the sea’s secrets in your ear,
squishy balls to make you feel better,
maps of homelands you fold
in your pocket as you go on your way