An Oral History of New York’s Arab and Muslim Community After 9/11

By Lylla Younes
Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Poetry

But a summer that begins must end. / Soon, the rains are called.

Poetry

Drink it all, / dredge the bottom for sunk honey

Poetry

Grappling with the burden of keeping a legacy alive in the face of occupation and erasure

Poetry

Today because you are a Cancer rising I want you / to try keeping my name in your mouth like a freeway-Slurpee / kiss, to feel my name burst against your body like / the airbag’s inflated plastic cushion while the car careens in / figure-8’s

Poetry

What else, if anything, would I / outdare a bullet for, if not our country / to bury our grandparents in?

Poetry

I read the flora and fauna in my home as uncannily resilient. / My ancestors’ bodies were presciently small. / Nests accommodate the needs of infestation. / I simply could not live in this house alone.

Poetry

and the woman in the mountain said /
my head is full of rocks / my mouth, ears, nose full of sand

Poetry

once, / before the stars & stripes, / we traced stripes across / the stars to steer us / home.

Poetry

to need sky / because you are sun / forgive forgive / the world is crueler / without you in it

Poetry

You desire a final frame / that suits and comforts, / a framing that supersedes / a death denied

Poetry

The other night my love turned his body to mine. This life, he said, is my heaven. 

Poetry

Q: Why the impulse to traverse old habits? / A: I believe in the refusal to explain.

Poetry

after 9/11 / cold silver stretches / across a slate gray table / a room tucked in an airport terminal / you’ve never heard of.

Poetry

when does / a door become / a door , as it opens / or when it closes , / revealing an entirety – its face / or a fixed movement / of its hinges , is that smiling / or saying goodbye , / moonlight / or memory.  

Poetry

“Discipline”, “Survey on Female Occupational Injuries in a Fishing Village”, and “Goddess Transformation”

Poetry

in Chinese, pistachios are called / kaixinguo — happiness fruits. / but they are neither happy nor fruit. / they are birthed out of their shells / i am not happiness nor fruit nor mother; / only carefully extracted.

Poetry

had partner My .Survival for /
trip the for long hair their grown /
—love make to nervous too was I and

Poetry

you are prepared for all of it. how the blood will smell. of you. of lavender. of the crown of a head.

Poetry

my mother gives love / through the severity of / past and future tragedies

Poetry

But a summer that begins must end. / Soon, the rains are called.

Poetry

You desire a final frame / that suits and comforts, / a framing that supersedes / a death denied

Poetry

Drink it all, / dredge the bottom for sunk honey

Poetry

The other night my love turned his body to mine. This life, he said, is my heaven. 

Poetry

Q: Why the impulse to traverse old habits? / A: I believe in the refusal to explain.

Poetry

Grappling with the burden of keeping a legacy alive in the face of occupation and erasure

Poetry

after 9/11 / cold silver stretches / across a slate gray table / a room tucked in an airport terminal / you’ve never heard of.

Poetry

Today because you are a Cancer rising I want you / to try keeping my name in your mouth like a freeway-Slurpee / kiss, to feel my name burst against your body like / the airbag’s inflated plastic cushion while the car careens in / figure-8’s

Poetry

when does / a door become / a door , as it opens / or when it closes , / revealing an entirety – its face / or a fixed movement / of its hinges , is that smiling / or saying goodbye , / moonlight / or memory.  

Poetry

What else, if anything, would I / outdare a bullet for, if not our country / to bury our grandparents in?

Poetry

“Discipline”, “Survey on Female Occupational Injuries in a Fishing Village”, and “Goddess Transformation”

Poetry

I read the flora and fauna in my home as uncannily resilient. / My ancestors’ bodies were presciently small. / Nests accommodate the needs of infestation. / I simply could not live in this house alone.

Poetry

in Chinese, pistachios are called / kaixinguo — happiness fruits. / but they are neither happy nor fruit. / they are birthed out of their shells / i am not happiness nor fruit nor mother; / only carefully extracted.

Poetry

and the woman in the mountain said /
my head is full of rocks / my mouth, ears, nose full of sand

Poetry

had partner My .Survival for /
trip the for long hair their grown /
—love make to nervous too was I and

Poetry

once, / before the stars & stripes, / we traced stripes across / the stars to steer us / home.

Poetry

you are prepared for all of it. how the blood will smell. of you. of lavender. of the crown of a head.

Poetry

to need sky / because you are sun / forgive forgive / the world is crueler / without you in it

Poetry

my mother gives love / through the severity of / past and future tragedies