Afternoon Tea

I try to remember my friend Raahil

As he was before the war broke out—

When our parents said we shouldn’t

Be friends anymore. We used to meet

After school and drink tea like British

Men and laugh and make fun while

Secretly hating the stuff his Mom

Fixed for a snack. We used to meet

On winter weekends and he’d talk about

Muhammad, and I about Jesus, while

Secretly hating the way our parents

Made us believe. We used to meet

To play but our parents made us stop.

I wonder if he is okay, and if he still

Secretly hates the way, as do I, our

Families loved us.

Lunch

I try to forget about Maryam

And that time I mistakenly walked

In on her while she stepped out

Of the shower and grabbed her

Hijab in fright. I think of Ramadan

Instead, in August two years back,

When Raahil invited me for Hilal.

I thought it was a celebration—

His parents laughed when I asked

When we would eat. I did not know

What I now know—that some fast

For holy rites—but they explained

Spiritual hunger and how to feed it;

While they spoke, I hoped Maryam

Would not tell them that I saw her.

We gathered when the crescent

Moon rose, and my stomach growled,

Hungry for something I did not know.

Elevenses

I try to write down things

I hear when I walk around.

Did you know you can have

A heart-attack from shoveling snow?

There is a punk version of Hamlet.

Karaoke comes from two words

In Japanese, the first meaning empty,

The second meaning orchestra.

Elephants have four knees.

The average male eats about

Thirty-five thousand cookies.

Whiskey is not the same as whisky,

And only the Scots know the difference.

Also, 4% of barreled whiskey evaporates

Before it is bottled and taxed more

Than an average American is taxed.

My neighbor eats cookies with whiskey.

I have never seen an elephant,

But I have seen Hamlet.

I keep my singing in the shower.

I shovel snow.

I avoid cookies.

Second Breakfast

I try to think of little things,

Like mice, and minnows, and

The microscopic line that separates

Me from "the edge." Like a tightrope

Trod by a hobbit, suddenly conscious

Of his seven meals a day, his weight

Gain, and the way his girth weighs

High on the balance, tilting neither

One way nor the other, I am misbalanced

All the same by a gravity greater than

My own—but what I think about

The little things, like me, like him,

Is that anxiety is consumptive.

It pulls us in, tight, packed, and as it

Does us, we do as well to others.

Breakfast

I try to remember why—

In Old English—morgenmete

Was the morning meal,

Not breakfast, like now,

Which breaks the period

After a night’s fast.

My mind wanders far

To think East, where

The poor in Burma eat

Fried rice with peas,

Served with green tea;

China’s breakfast includes

Noodles, soups, dim sum;

Japan has miso and nori;

But still back here there’s

Waffles and pancakes,

Sausage, eggs, biscuits;

And back in my mind, here—

My body, my temple—nothing.