Wednesday, March 22, 2006

what an ashraf is- a character study

you ask, how was philly?
i say, i didn't know just how good
until i had to leave.



here is an ode or a painting,
hung behind the silver slivers
of an old fashioned science fiction
gown. fitting only for a diva
or a dalida, a goddess, or more.

here is another string of secrets
tied together on a shoe lace
and followed by a friendly cat
down the length of an inspirational corridor.

what an ashraf is- all the secret
hiding places in a car
for mints, gums, glasses, gloves,
tissues, cds, mirrors, fragrances
and special body butters.

what an ashraf is- the effects
of a transformation from christmas pj's
to hair gel and a soft sweater
with contact lenses and leather gloves.

what an ashraf has- if he blushes,
the most beautiful brown eyes
ever given to a boy by his mother
and just enough attitude
to warrant a guilty smile.

what an ashraf has- a collection
of royal blue and gold bottles
of shampoo, conditioner and
shower gel neatly arranged
in the corner of the shower
in the back of the bathroom
with the loose light switch
from too many rough starts
to too many heavy days.

what an ashraf does- offers hot tea
before breakfast and asks how i like
the collection of marie howe poems
i've barely skimmed the surface of.

what an ashraf does- bites his nails
when no one is meant to be watching
then catches me staring and stops.
neither of us smiling, neither needing to.
instead, we comment on the cat.

3 comments:

arch.memory said...

(Oh my god!... I am too... speechless. Maybe I'll reply to your in an e-mail when I find my words... Thank you, Katy.)

Kendall Messner said...

Thanks for this! It is neat when most recent work is at the top of a list of favorites. After reviewing the bulk of your work here, this one is quite worthy. I really like the imagery and use of repetition. I will come back!

Kendall Messner

Anonymous said...

It started out really weird, the idea of a poem which lucidly self-posits. As I read on, however, it started making sense. It is hard to think of an Achraf in a poem, primarily because he is what he is to me. Strangely, I have just started doubting my relation to him. Seems like a schism is starting to occur in my head between Achraf and Achraf, and I do not think that I mind that, but it is happening, anyway. Oh and the details and the scents and the gel my Lord they brought me back to the summer (because I only see him during summers), it reminded me of how when he leaves, his scent lingers in his room for some extra days, and how I see it fading away every time I walk in. I cannot do anything to prevent his scent from fading away.

Oh, but Katy, there is also unease that I feel when I remember all of those things.

Bref, I think you captured Achraf rather well!

Son frère Ahmad