Renee Yaseen

Every Girl Becomes [ ]
After Mansur Al-Hallaj 

You walk lightly over my eyes hilled in sleep,
while you turn up the earth
and take your tea and strange turmoil, scattered shrapnel, on the green, white sugar, silver
spoon, your
black tea poured
short for us,
products of [nations at war].

You ask if I want any more,
if after all, [I could want] anymore,

As [old tea leaves] bleed weak,
I say I almost taste tomorrow as today unfurls from sleep,
You know,

“يا نسيم الريح قولي للرشا
لم يزدني الورد إلا عطشا”

[those untranslatable ways in which the rain makes thirst increase]