my attempt to explain

Nail

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Thu, 21 Mar 2013 14:37:00 +0000

a nail stood tall
in the threshold
of the doorway
the door couldn't close

Personal

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Sun, 10 Feb 2013 02:04:00 +0000

The things that others
can't see
don't know

You and Me

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 04:17:00 +0000

Its like a rock
in a crashing ocean
a tree in
hurricane wind
you sit still and certain

i love u
like home

It Happens

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 04:09:00 +0000

It Happens
like sunshine behind
light rain
you may not notice its heat
right away
you may not notice the light at all
but there it is
making diamonds
out of every drop

It Happens
like color
that splashes
onto a wall
changing plain
to magnificent

It Happens
Slow like
the pink the grows
and shrinks
behind orange and blue
jagged lines
a sight you could miss
if you looked away
or became distracted
for even a second

Dripping slowly like fig jam
soaking through toast
It Happens

If you asked me before
or if you asked me after
the answer would be the same

that tender
taste of
love
is sweetest
when its ripe
and falls
on its own

My Ode to Ashkan

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 03:43:00 +0000

There’s a guy

Who I’ve known

For not even a year

Though I’ve seen his curls

Wiggle to the sky

And his smiles

change the traffic lights

There was a morning

When I was so sad

He sent me moving pictures of him

In the basement next to the pink box of detergent

A boxy black and white instrument

In his hands

Up and down sound shoot through

Computer speakers

And suddenly

There’s life

Green is growing

Maybe a sun is shining

And hidden from under

A mound of Emptiness

Is a smile

Previously lost

In a pocket

Of a coat

I thought I gave away

He told the Richards to shut up

Certain and stubborn

So I did too

His heart is rare, like a stone

No one knows the name of yet

He’s a quiet guy

Though they think he’s loud

He’s cooking ideas

When others are sleeping

He’s loba

and he is very important

like a badge that gets you into

some awesomeness room

Concrete Summer

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Fri, 06 Jul 2012 21:05:00 +0000

Concrete the foe.

I stopped after a minute of my walk home. Went into the bookstore because I couldn’t, just couldn’t, bear it any longer. The heat was like creepy guy rubbing my arm.

I blame the concrete. Walking on concrete in 105 degree weather is like pouring gasoline over a fire to put it out. Concrete makes the heat no longer heat. Instead it makes a web of slime, a wall of bad breath, something your body must walk through not in. And the heat, the texture, the weight, its not air, its something else. Like walking into a blow dryer, or drinking a glass of water somebody used as an ash tray. You just know its not okay, its not normal. Good things are not happening as you inhale and walk through this substance.

You don’t really notice concrete until it’s this hot. It’s like not noticing car pollution until you’re standing in a city stuck in a valley and the sky is black and smoky. Then you start to hate concrete like you hate cars. I mustered my courage and walked out of the bookstore onto the sidewalk. I looked at the concrete as I walked, wondering how, scientifically, it was adding to the equation of wrongness. And then I thought why do we have this concrete. And my gaze fell upon the cars parallel parked on the street. We have the concrete for the cars. And we have the cars for the people. So we have the concrete for the people. No. The concrete is not for people.

Then I start to conjure up solutions, urban plans, materials that are more natural, to comprise sidewalks, like the stuff they put in playgrounds and around tree roots, flexible, soft, and more able to ingest and cool the heat, like the path in a forest, made of old trees and grass and mud. Mud. Mud is cool. Mud.

And the sun. You could make a videogame out of us pedestrians, trying to dodge the sun like it was a space ship with a missile. The sun becomes a strange radioactive burning laser that makes concrete meaner. And suddenly the lack of trees all around is apparent, like we are in the last phase of hunger games with nowhere to hide.

Death

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Fri, 22 Jun 2012 03:41:00 +0000

Death is sitting by the pool
watching the orange light
through the lazy swaying trees
until 9 pm
Everyone I loved was fine
somewhere
being themselves
Knew that I loved them
All the cities in the world were
just being too
There was no where to go
Nothing to seek
No dream to feed
No one to know
Nothing to resolve
No hunger to fill
No one to miss
Nothing wrong to fix

6 AM

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 13:07:00 +0000

Woke up

To an electric room

My bed and me

The paintings too

We all sat in a light bulb

Like a transparent fabric

Spread evenly through out the room

reflecting the sun

My brain lost its rthyms last week

Somehow changing from one side to the other side of the world

Was too much

Never used to be

My eyes too

They can't see

everything is blurry

The beginning of the next

Eleven years begins

A Year After

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 13:06:00 +0000

I walked past her on the sidewalk
While the 2am birds sang their hellos
She was white
a pink light lined her body
Her smile was a wave in the ocean growing in intensity as she came closer to you
Your hands, hers and yours, untwisted under the metal lamp
on the corner of Corcoran and New Hampshire

U would be back

She and I converged this morning
When the sun rose

A blue light in the window
And you weren't there
But he was
Unfamiliar new routine
I wanted ours back
It wasn’t on the shelf
Our way our wake
A memory leeching onto the present
I paused the film of our morning
And returned back to him
He faced me
Distracting me
U never did
There's no show

Here
He doesn't sing and dance

Now she is gone
And it's just me

All that remains
Is this
a siphon lodged
Inside my breast
It empties me
You are the ocean I want to embrace and bring home

She tried
Ambition betrayed
She could only swim for so long
Before your tide changed

I stand before the water
Both of you gone
I do not go in
I stay
Watch from the shore

Color Blind

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 13:04:00 +0000

If I found you

W ur abilities to

Cook and clean

Support

And fix

Love and give

Watch and do

If I found you

Id have to give you a

Flaw

What would it be

Not laziness

Certainly

Not cruelty

Perhaps

You could be color blind

Yes that'll do

Train to New York

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 13:03:00 +0000

Everytkme the train stops

The lights and sounds inside go dark

Like its a crisis

It slows and the track lights are blink

The aisleway and is not visible

And darkness descends abruptly

Like something is over

And we must get off

The lights come back

And my head leans against

The little bit of window I have

The sun is going slow in leaving

So Pink colors the quickly passing

View

A bridge has been abandoned below it

And unplanned and adventurous green burst from below it

Abandoned by us filled in by them

Airplane to Beirut

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 13:02:00 +0000

Is the moon full early

Or is it because we are up here

Not down there

The air grumbles a deep

Muzzled complaint

Offended by the plane's intrusive

Needling into it's space

The sounds is a wind tunnel we all ignore

Something's changed.

A woman peeled her way out

Of my skin

To see the world on the other end of this flight through her eyes...

Internet and buildings

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Tue, 01 May 2012 11:10:00 +0000

the warm blanket
of nature and people
was slowly replaced by
the internet and buildings

City Life

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 19:17:00 +0000

You wait for me
and I know it
your plastic alarm sunrise
your commuter sunset
your serendipity must be scheduled in

Your humans
plug in and
power out

There's too much to be done
so one day you can have time do nothing
Time pays in dollars and minutes
none of that ever mattered to a seedling

The beach

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 18:02:00 +0000

Your light is blue

And your green is violet

In between you

Your sides

Are yellow and sometimes black

The grains

Bend under my pressure

I make holes that don’t fill

So I can retrace my steps back

And out

You are clear today

Crisp and too transparent

It could frighten those that require

More clouds

I like you all exposed

Fragile protected areas

I warden you off with orange rope

Disrespectful people don’t know

How to care for you

I do

I lay down to get out of your wind

I zip up my coat

Your heat doesn't warm

I search for my footsteps

Find my way out

Home

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 01:41:00 +0000

In his proud saunter

The thick of his thighs

His playful subversion

His produce department

negotiation

In pots filled with opiates;

Tart and butter

Crisped sheets of rice

In the blackened room
a digestif of

A quivering voice

Sway of souls

folk meddling

In the glisten of morning

and choice chaos on the walls

In her concern for

that day's passing patron

his wet hairline

his uncivilized plastic

rejected him in public

In his ceaseless story

His sharp dissections

His sensitivity

In a stranger's words

my unearthed mother tongue

Shock

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 02:13:00 +0000

I don’t get shocked. I am not sure why and who cares why any way. I just don’t. Loyal couples cheat, people die, world trade center gets bombed, wars start and end, people are unlawfully incarcerated, bankers get paid a percentage of our GDP while everyone else goes broke, nothing surprises me. I think I turned cynical day two of my life. Just opened my eyes and saw all that wasn’t right or safe and expected it.

Though I never accepted it. I am also deeply idealistic. It doesn’t make sense to most Americans, being idealistic and cynical at the same but it’s completely rational in Iran. We have the world’s only theocracy. There is so much idealism in that you can’t imagine. One dude is empowered by god to do right by all of us. No checks, no balances. Utopia. And then he doesn’t and no one does and we go to jail for farting and thus cynicism develops at a very young age. Not that I was born or raised in Iran. I wasn't.

I felt shock for the first time that night. You stood before me and told me you weren’t coming home with me. I didn't even know it was an option. She stood behind you while you said it. I asked you 'are you going home with her?' And you didn’t respond. I looked at you in the eyes. I was shocked.

I thought too much was between us for that to happen. Right now you would respond ‘but I told you I wanted to be friends, I told you that I don’t fall in love, I told you I was an asshole.’ You did. You also held my hand down the street and back over and over and over again. And it was you who bought me flowers. Twice. You were also the only person who knew how to let me be.

All that was unspoken, all that was unsaid, seemed to me to say the most. That we were bound to each other in our mutual eccentricity, our mutual understanding of that strangeness inside. And because of this, we were the most important to each other. And you seemed to say that to me each time you returned, and each day that we passed together. Though it said nothing of the future, of our structure, of our commitment, it said so much to me. It said everything that needed to be said.

But it wasn’t true. I learned that people are not just who they are but what they believe. You might have been my equal in spontaneity and individuality but you weren’t my equal in belief. You didn’t believe in our chance, our luck. You didn’t believe in love. But most importantly you didn’t believe in yourself to do more. You leaned back into your cowardice, you dug your heels into your selfishness, and you sat back into your indifference. And you let me get shocked and turn around and never see you again.

Inconvenient Love

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 15:08:00 +0000

The bird’s thirst finally quenched of the flower’s nectar

Like luscious fruit born of the bee’s eventual sprinkle

Lashing wind slowed by spinning staying trees

Leaves forced free by passing bitter

Growth’s reliance on spring’s glow

Tree haven for the moss’ mosey over the bark

The fierce wash of the shore by the moon moved ocean

Laid bare and baked in the tide’s inevitable retreat

Fresh and foreign fill canopy chasms

Layers deepen

Trees and moss tuck in the house tight

Misted wooded fence emits its true tint

In Observance

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 22:36:00 +0000

Cool drops fell
slowly
from the white sky
in observance
of this ending

This ending is not one of longing
this ending is not one of lack

I mourn the death you caused
I wail the pain
of the sacred lost

My love was a gift

See shooting stars
and lunar eclipses
and eyes locked in laughter
don't happen so easy

Rhythm
is the rare bloom

We were a discovery
stumbled upon
the final frontier
our nuclear reaction
a source of exponential
energy

You dismantled
our collision
Froze our
bolt
You stole
the promise of
light

The rain and I sit
in grief

Silent Crime

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 04:00:00 +0000

I fell n love w u n silence
I fell n love w u silently
U came and went
U came and went
And came back again
So many times
I was certain
Certain u cared
And then I dared
Dared to believe
U loved me
I wasn't blind
Or confused
I thought it was a matter
Of timing
A matter of you
Well that's what u told me
I could've inferred more
Deduced beyond your words
But I trusted you
I feel shame
For betting on someone
Who could be so cruel
I feel terrified
My hairs on my arms keep jumping up
Just thinking of you
Terrified of what damage ur willing to do
Terrified of how little we humans matter to u
Sometimes I see her n my mind
Walking by
She scares me too
Bc she reminds of the night I
Came in contact
W the worst of man
Like watching the film of crime
Committed against me
You robbed and you stole
And me and the fibers of the soul
that string between humankind
will not forget

Bird

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 03:52:00 +0000

It was loud,
fast jazz
on tuesday night
we wanted to read
poetry
to interrupt
our official-ness

After the computer screened
words
he told me about a
dying bird he took away
from the concrete sidewalk
and placed in green brush
a quiet place
and peaceful death

I needed that dying bird story
like water

For a night
and then a few weeks in the aftershocks
you took all the dying bird stories
away
you made the world black
what if everyone was capable
of what you did
and so trust became
a shudder
a mistake
what if my trust was
was a

I cried against the fast moving hits of the upright bass
and my friend held my hand
friends,
they are the ones
who keep this world
while your gait
causes destruction
and your deaf ears
ignore the tender songs
of dying birds

kado

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 22:11:00 +0000

on the train back from sousse to tunis

a guy sat next to me

and we talked in the worst way

with my nothing french

and his nothing english

we talked about the islamic party

then he said facebook?

and i said yes

and wrote my name down

then he handed me his lighter

"kado"

i demonstrated with my hands

that i can't fly with the lighter

okay

then we arrived to tunis

je suis ravi du parlouz avec toi

i was confused

and he motioned that he is going

he shook my hand

bye

and i got it and he smiled

and that smile

had something in it

the mix of bye

and that smile

i walked out of the train station

onto the street

i was the only tourist on the train

in the station

i walked out

hoping i would find a taxi

and looking for him

the boy

just because that smile

radiated me

but he was nowhere

and i walked out the door

of the station

all the bustle of people and cars

in the night

"maryam"

and before me was him

"kado"

it was a leather bracelet

Tunis

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 10:37:00 +0000

I am so inspired by this place. Its truly the real thing. These people. Enlightened leaders, regressive followers, Islamist, Progressives, Women leading the way. Its remarkable. This is the true fight. Both sides are armed with thought and action. I met with a journalist and went with this one musician ngo guy to this entrepreneur girl/super activist office and they were looking at the demo of newspaper she was making for the most progressive party here and they were discussing the articles. There were edits through out the full color 5 page paper. She was laughing nervously as he read through the articles, it was as if they are dropping something dangerous onto the world. They argued for half an hour about when the referendum should take place and how much power the constitution writers should have and for how long. Khouraif, the guy, looked at me and said, we have differences in our families, much less on the street.

They have a citizen bus and citizen coffee shops throughout the country. And the thing about all of these ideas and activities is that they are theirs. They come up with it and do it with their savings.They never even knew their country before this, they weren't allowed to associate publicly particularly in the regions and now they are making networks. People are planning for each political milestone. One woman started educating women about the vote bc she said "when they passed the law that there should be equal representation bt men and women in the constitutional assembly,"i felt like this was my country." She said over and over again "we are the first" to receive the official badge and training as election monitors. She showed me the badge. She said she carries it with her everywhere because she is so worried she will lose it. She says to me "if the country goes, if my daughters have to move out, at least I can't look at myself and say I didn't mobilize. The television asked me to come give live analysis after the prime minister's first speech. I asked my husband, should I? He said, no, it could be dangerous. I waited. And then I said yes and did it."

I looked at her and you could see that this woman's ego was small, what led her was not ignorance or passion, but thought and principle. There are many people who are plagued with the same need to prove themselves, to make a name, to be a leader. But within them, among them, are people that are chill, that know of a purpose larger than themselves, and so they pursue it with ingenuity and thought. Somehow, though every fight is personal, with the people I met, particularly yesterday, they were whole enough, not to need the fight to fill themselves.

The aesthetics are nice as well, old ornate white homes and buildings, smoky lounges with mint tea, lots of art deco and long boardwalks with cafes. Public space is important here, people are having conversations together, walking around everywhere. It was a funny dictatorship that's for sure. Some women have gloves on their hands while others can barely pull the jeans off their skin. A breeze is constantly blowing with a temperature not cold and not hot. But most important is the light. I tend to be judgmental about a place by how the light shines on it. The sun beats relentlessly on all white walls during the day and at sunset the light turns the whole town pink. Last night I drove from the city center to the coast for a meeting. As we drove the sun began to set and against turquoise blue water was a pink and violet sky. We dipped into small streets, the bustle of the city continued, and men's robes,girl's t-shirts, and minarets were all colored pink.

I can't say that all of these feelings and sensations are new. I think its the strange mixture here that has compelled me. Maybe I am not shocked, but I am pleased.

Saturday Walk

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 21:59:00 +0000

The water is polite
gentle like a spring
The silence of the city
the calm of the sweet drip
like a walk on the shore
of an abandoned island
I can't tell where this street ends
Green is enhanced
and almost violet
pink bursts in little flowers along the way
Water teeters on my brow
joins the rest on the concrete
a river forms
on its way south
the air is like a cucumber
extinguishing the heat in my muscles
underneath my skin
the hurricane keeps steady
like a gradual friend

Thursday Walk

noreply@blogger.com (Maryam) — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 02:59:00 +0000

Its time for clothes
Strings and cotton
won't do
the cool suddenly
feels like I am naked