Swasti,
to endings, beginnings and beyond.
60
My sister shuts the glass door
behind her.
and as she rolls out her luggage
explains to us:
I’ll call when I cross the ocean
it’ll all feel like a minute.
50
the age my mum is
the day she loses her mother
also the day my sister lands
a warm summer afternoon, calls
to tell us she read Amiss in Wonderland
on the plane?
and to ask us
how we are all faring without her.
40
The number of days we
wear black, our hearts still fresh
with memory
throughout I pray-
the best way I know
I leave an extra plate on our kitchen table
30
the number of seconds it takes
for the people who love
to lift a little old woman on their shoulders and
I remember hearing, we are compensated for
by your safety
Arabic for: We love you,
may you grieve in gentler ways.
20
this part of the minute I miss
on my way home, my shirt
watered with the tears of people
who do not forget,
the warmth of kisses:
3 in a row, the warmth of coffee
always brewing on her stove
zero.
I am born
a warm summer afternoon
my grandmother holds me
though my heart is not beating.
Zero,
I am born
a warm summer afternoon
my grandmother is there
when my heart starts beating
this is forever, she explains
even if it’s just
60
for a minute.
Photography by: Omar Abou Hamdan