A Living Cemetary -

Put memories in a blender to get the non-linear way of storytelling,
common in the Muslim world.
We scrambled under the umbrella for thirty seconds of shelter.
Megan broke it.
Want some chocolate?
Allahu Akbar, Qur’an, Allah.
When in doubt it’s a glottal stop.
Hot dogs in a bun.
Hot dogs in sauce.
The quiche is steady and unchanging.
Hallelujah, pizza makes me sing.
Crickets or cockroaches and hogging the fans.
Squeak and creak. Squeak and creak. Four bunkbeds in a row.
No thanks trying to quit.
Ashadu Anna la Allah ila Allah wa Mohommad Rasool-e-la.
Collecting seashells and harmful UV rays.
Riding the subway the wrong direction.
I am blessed with more than I deserve.
Losing weight off NYSUM food and gaining it back with ice cream.
You are loved and forgiven.
Carpet sprayed with plumeria rose.
A burst of chatter around eleven, usually Liz was trying to study.
Introverts at heart.
Punch the elevator.
If you’re grouchy and you know it smile for me.
The summer flowers haunt each room.
Backrubs and footrubs combing each others hair.
Squat up on the pot.
Remember skit night? Oh yeah there weren’t any.
IPIBIT, Hafreez the Quran in place and Fitr are fasting.
Discovering that root beer does have caffeine.
Megan talked to her boyfriend…every night.
Little Calcutta.
Hey is the chapel open?
Oatmeal sticks to your ribs.
Liz recruits for Albania.
The ice cream man and his incessant song.
Bism Allah. Bism Allah. Bism Allah. Bism Allah.
Insha Allah. Insha Allah. Insha Allah. Insha Allah.
La Allah ila Allah. La Allah ila Allah. La Allah ila Allah.
Just the three of us, we can make it if we try, just the three of us,
Liz, Megan, and I.

Current Mood: grateful