Out-
siders invade your
land. Tell you,
Hate your
neighbors.
Your family awakens
to explosions. Bleat-
ing sheep.
Lebanese
Civil War destroys your seaside city of man-
y faiths. A rosebush grows in
a pool of Adonis’s
blood. You throw
roses in the aqueduct in shooting rains, now Cali-
fornia suns. Avoid thorns of seven
petals, symbolizes inclusion. Your
son
learns all day. Forgets
in night dreams
where a
Marid
steals rare blooms. Starts over. Leaves
settle thick in the
gurgling spring.
A young prince
climbs down the well to find a princess sitting
on a stone chair. The Marid
snoring with his
enormous head in
the princess’s lap. She wears a necklace of moonlit
flowers.
I ask my friend, Do you remember how we
met? Does your prophet believe
in
suicide bombings?
The rebels
kidnap
a teach-
er from the American
University
in Beirut.
I only
know what I read in the newspaper. I de-
light in your gift of homemade
lafa bread and falafels.
More parsley in mine,
you say. At home I crush it like a pancake split
open. Crunchy in flat bread made by your
mother and your daughter sit-
ing
on
the floor for hours. My
daughter photo-
graphed the
process
for a report in High School.
Your mother asks your
daughter, Aren’t
you glad you
found such a bright young man in your arranged
marriage? I can choose in
America, she
whispers. She weds him
and they move to San Diego. The prince beheads the
monster and marries the princess. They become
guardians of scarce flowers.
You
fast
until sunset. Your
son eats
In-N-Out,
smokes weed
in forbidden daylight hours.
You carry the se-
cret in fossil roses.