Did hospitailty kill the host?

Within a few minutes of standing on the side of the road a friendly man in his seventies had picked us up. Although the name of our destination was the only word that we were sure we shared in understanding, we still engaged in an excited conversation of misunderstood Arabic and body language stifled by the limited space in the hatchback.

Read More

Dearest A: a belated love letter

I know I scream at you, curse your non-skin, your explosions, but today I need to whisper lightly and say:

Thank you for protecting me; without you, eating me from the inside out, I could never have known. I would never have known the skin was a mask, or the porridge had poison, or that my neck really was breaking under the weight even though I was holding feathers. Without you moving my stomach - shit, piss, vomit, sweat – my body would have floated away. You anchor me on my own shore even if the sand feels too heavy under my feet, at least I know it’s there. You tell me through stomach snakes that my ocean knows better than a plastic cup in a waiting room, you’re not poisonous but the water cooler is, the salt just stings a bit that’s all but it’s supposed to if you’re red.

Read More