I remember how bold I once was under the moonlight
my budding breasts echoing the moon.
I remember gathering wild oregano in the mountains,
each efflorescence swelling with minute white flowers smelling
of rebirth, only to be dried and mixed into za’atar, a delight for our taste buds.

I remember seeing my first newborn dangling,
feet held in the doctor’s hands, her pink face, and perfectly delineated
features foreshadowing her beauty.
I remember driving on a familiar road under pouring rain,
staring at the windshield wipers’ blades’ pendulum motion.

as I wiped unending tears that took ages to dry out.
I remember how my mom threw on the floor
with contempt, an imitation turquoise necklace I bought for a friend’s birthday.
I remember going nightly to the seasonal open-air cinemas
in Heliopolis with my mom,

enjoying the cool evening breeze as we ate icy lemon
granitas and sesame bread with sharp cheese.
I remember the smell of my father’s chain-smoking
as I sat on his lap, watching curlicues and swirls rise,
rocked by his constant backgammon dice rolls.

I remember the hiddaya‘s outstretched wings
hovering over my lovebirds’ cage, the terrified pair
unable to avoid the bird of prey’s crooked beak,
their bleeding head drooping through the bars.
I remember my mom guiding my hand to outline drawings

as I’d wet colored crayons on my tongue to blend
and deepen shades. I remember unrolling my grandmother’s
stockings right after she yelled at the six-year-old girl,
painstakingly helping her pull the tight fabric
around her crippled legs.