أحبك In Five Hesitations

I.

Letters are just symbols
combined to shape words.
Words are just symbols
combined to shape ideas.
Ideas can be dangerous;
This is why, in the history of oppression,
illiteracy has been the weapon most
commonly wielded by the oppressor.
I want to write.
I want to share my thoughts
with you.
I want to use words
to show you my thoughts;
Perhaps I may put them in your head as well.
Perhaps I may name thoughts that are already there.
Do I dare?

II.
I want to tell you something.
It's something I've said a thousand times
already, but words can be misleading.
It's something I've shown you a thousand
times, but looks can be misjudged.

III.
Words bind me
Words free me
Words fill me
Words leave me.

IV.
I remember feeling
Light-headed and tripping
over my words
(how they tangled 'round my tongue)
Very foolish, very
Embarrassing, but then again
You did take me by surprise
Outside, I regained my footing:
"Unlikely."

V.
Music in my head:
someone else's music.

Allow me my indulgence:
I love you.

On Sleep

I try not to hear things at night, but
things try much harder to be heard.
The grandfather, the clock,
bellowing every quarter-hour;
his many offspring ticking
praise and condemnation to me,
tocking out their quarrels:
they never can percuss a united front;
the heater, rumbling in the
dungeon like a discontent dragon;
automobiles-
electricity-
all too shy to whisper during the day,
but reliably willing to shout at night.


My refrigerator is an insomniac. At least, a restless sleeper. It rouses and grumbles, stretches and yawns its way through the night. Each time, my grandmother rises and checks on it.

On Cleanliness

I usually shower.
For me, taking a bath is an act of self-indulgence. Of extravagance.
I bathe only when I feel really, really dirty.
I want to see the water cloud with my filth.
I want to feel it flow over every inch of me.

I don't want to turn the water off.
It's not that I want it to keep running and running and growing deeper and hotter and higher.
It isn't, really.
It's that I want it to be loud.
I want its rushing torrents to drown out the silence.
Oh, intolerable silence!
When I'm in the mood for bathing, silence reminds me why.

I put my head under the water,
see how long I can hold my breath.
Warm embrace of the water and beautiful black,
then white and then air.
It reminds me how enjoyable breathing is, after all.

I want to get out as soon as possible,
to watch every last drop spiral down,
dark into the drain.
I dry off:
two towels, sometimes more.
And a blow-dryer for my hair.
I don't want any of my damp past clinging to me.