Ta hangsha zemrën, hayati.
I nourish myself for you this morning.
Fry sujuk, crack two eggs into the
peppered oil, & of course, I peel
a large, sumo orange. The pith is very
important. I will not scrub it out, not yet.
My desire will burn with the sun
past dawn, into dusk, & even
as the sun sets, I will not stop
thinking of you in the sweetest ways.
Why would I want to stop?
So I prepare some dates the way you
taught me: slice them, pit them, a dollop of
almond butter in each. A handful of
pistachios crushed between a folded tea towel
& roll the sticky dates into the savory dust.
I chew. I chew for a long time.
Date fibers & pistachio crumbles
& puréed almond sticking in my
crooked teeth. I find myself wishing that I
could chew it forever. & I think I will.
This bit of Levantine sweetness
to remind me of your taste
as the sky transforms from cornflower
to lilac to pale rose. I sip the tea we bought
together, brewed with sugar & milk.
& I return to the citrus stuck in the
grooves of my fingerprints. I suck on it.
& I return to the glass of water
blessed with the breath that we
once shared. I drink it all.
Everything is so sweet, so pretty,
& I feel full enough to burst.
As my stomach shrinks today,
I know one thing that is constant:
one love there is to keep me full.