Knives
I abhor the sound of my parents
clashing their metal tongues
you son of 60 dogs
you whore
ya kelb ya waesich
3an abu shaklak
the language of wedding band inscriptions
hurled across the dinner table
a circus act of shabashib
aimed at my head
slice up my tongue
but leave my fingers
knives storming my bowels
like Napoleon’s cavalry after a trip to Egypt
running me mummy brown
after too many khodar
too much salata baladi
or just a sip of tap water
like I’m not legit enough
to hang with baladi intestinal flora
not baladi enough
so Baladi cuts me up
with her uncooked food
and rawness
with her diverted water
and hydroelectric power
I abhor the sound of knives
sharpening memories
slice up my tongue
bass sibou sawaab3ey
Hair Ties
1.
The day my hair tie broke
I yelled, “fuck!”
and cracked a wry smile
at the student evaluation
that read “unprofessional”
I couldn’t contain myself
I paid five cents for it
but breaking it
cost me my dignity
I couldn’t contain myself
2.
The day my hair tie broke
my infant grabbed a fistful
of stray curls
tiny vice grip fingers
holding fast to her roots
3./.٣
The day my hair tie broke
the police pulled me over
I wondered if I’d get taken
in
I wondered if I’d get taken
out
.٤/4.
The day my hair tie broke
I heard my mother’s voice
beat a frantic rhythm
inside my skull
“Limmi sha3rik, ya bint!”
but felt sexy again
for a second
.٥
The day my hair tie broke
I thought to myself, “Ana hummara”
as my locks scrambled
to swat their gnat-like calls
of “ya sharbat, ya amar”
from my ears
I failed to lick clean
the unsavory clicks on teeth
accidental presses
in Khan el Khalili
passageways
6.
The day my hair tie broke
their dirty blonde mouths
yelled, “Brown Sugar”
and craved a taste
7./.٧
because
this body unleashed
is a threat
a liability
to itself
Hair Brush
When my iron coils
broke half your teeth
I made sure to leave you
extra baksheesh
O Cairo cab driver
on the Autobahn
I know how much
you miss your
crooked streets
Favorite Chair
The Carpenter wanted a daughter
gamda, qawwaya like herself
with the thick skin of an oak
under her polished surface
a daughter solid and strong enough
to fell a tree in her hands
and craft from its wood
a chair upon which
Madame could rest her back
after a hard day’s work
The Carpenter’s favorite chairs
adorned Victorian salons
plump and dainty
thighs boasting
coy question marks
over their curled toes
Madame planted a tree
fancying apples
of rosy flesh
smooth and crisp
falling not too far from her own
but Madame got a Willow
laden with silty water
Madame didn’t know
that every time
her head throbbed
The Willow would too
and pare her skin
that every time
Madame sought shelter from
the Cairene sun
that stalked her
The Willow would uproot herself
bent under the weight of her
cascading tendrils
to offer Madame her shade
But Madame had little use
for idling beneath
cool, weeping leaves
and chopped The Willow
down
with a butcher’s precision for limbs
and choice cuts
rubbed the wood clean
with 50 grit
embalmed it with varnish
but was surprised
that when she rested
her burdens
against The Willow’s bones
she drowned
The Chair
in stagnant tears
sap gathering at the corners of
her splintered eyes
Born in Hamburg to parents from Cairo, Dina El Dessouky immigrated to the United States at age three. Dina teaches writing at the University of California, Santa Cruz, where she completed her doctorate in Literature. Her work appears in Mizna, Spiral Orb, and Min Fami: Arab Feminist Reflections on Identity, Space, and Resistance (Inanna Publications, 2014). She is an Alum of VONA/Voices, The Quest Writer’s Conference, and Las Dos Brujas Writers’ Workshops, and has served as a resident writer in the Santa Cruz Recycled Art Program. She is currently at work on her first collection of poems.