Umbilical Cord

My mother drew from the desert
a string of sand
and knotted it to my navel.
No matter how far I go
I'm like a bucket
trying in vain
to scoop up the moon
reflected in the mirror of water
deep in a well.
 

Tomb

I feel cramped inside my body . . .
if I were to breathe deeply
my skin would split.
 

Experiment

She mixed acid of ink with salt
of the sea and wounds of the soul
she mixed
she inscribed on callous desert 
and merciful paper
wings and longings
she attempted to fly . . .
 

Cinderella

I hear the whisper of slippers in the clear air
one is on your little foot
the other tucked away in my heart
The charming prince's soldiers search
for two slippers, the one you wear, and the other, where?
 
 

Water Poem

She dipped her fingers into the desert
and wrote with mirage water a poem . . . that
                                                            drips
                                                            drips
                                                            drips
            a rhythm inaccessible to the senses.
 
 

Two Children

            For my mother Noor, poet, whose verses I borrow

I cling to her dress
as a child clings to a kite string
I climb up her plait
as a squirrel climbs a hazelnut tree 
Afternoons, we hop from one world to another
delighting in the air
like birds that have opened their cage door
We go from one game to the next
She teaches me
           names of flowers
           the seasons of rain
           love of our country
I teach her
           stubbornness and mischief
We share one apple and countless dreams
We make the desert into a paradise of questions
We splash each other with the water of mirages
           and befriend a stray gazelle
Dusk overtakes us
           In the obscure twilight
           who can solve
this riddle:
Which is the mother
and which the child?