Latest from Zeina Hashem Beck
Departure and return, variation and repetition — these movements that “ghazal” poetry makes with immense longing have come to qualify all my loves. I leave Lebanon and return to it. My daughters push me away and summon me back. I say goodbye to friends and meet them again in different cities.
Over time, the bark swelled and waned and folded over the wires, swallowing them. Now six of our fitneh trees have bumpy trunks, and I wonder whether their form is a reminder of our cruelty. We never wrapped any lights around the bougainvillea. They remain intact, their branches full of thorns, and perhaps for this reason they will not remember us.