Hookah smoke is sweet
like tea
seeped in saffron sugar
and rock candy.
I sit under
gently curved domes
abundant with roses
paisley leaf and pink desert swirl
bathing in a sea of blue heaven.
Gathering mountains
ride the earth like thunder
outside the city gate.
I am at your service
he smiles with his whole face
and displays a tray of
walnut-pomegranate
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Sahar's dark eyes
take on intensity as
she and her business partner
show us their graphic art.
This is the Persian gulf.
Sa'di's verses crest
like curls on
the statesmen of Persepolis
bringing their tribute
through the gate of all nations.
We combine ancient and modern elements
in our work
resolve the tension
between tradition
and modernity.
Yes
we have to wear the hijab,
but it is only a hijab.
We live with it
like the story
about the one who longs for what exists
behind the veil
as if it is an object
to be conquered
and won.
What is longed for
can only be attained
by entering the stream
swimming to the island
that floats in the middle of the river
diving deep where mud and water
yield a hidden threshold
breath
in an empty bowl.
It is said
Esfahan is half the world.
On the female bridge Khaju
that spans the Zayandeh river
light gleams from the lion's eye
if you stand in the right place.
Young men sing choral harmonies
in the hollow of the stone arches.
Couples holding hands and families with children
stroll back and forth and gaze at shooting fountains
on the distant shore.
An old man who comes the bridge every evening
shows us a secret.
One can whisper into a particular place in the arch
and hear what is said
on the opposite side.
We climb
and hear
one after the other
a chain of listeners.
Stand here
the furthest jetty on the bridge
over the river
instructs Sahar's sister.
Stretch out your arms
and imagine you are on a boat
moving across the waters.
Night wind blows my hijab like sails
and I learn another measure of hospitality.
O Iran
Revelation bursts forth from your soil
draped in ten thousand shades
of illumination.
You returned my people to Jerusalem
restored the Temple
provided my relatives with a Persian home for thirty centuries
and I did not know.
Now I jump over fires on Norouz
go to the garden of roses
the first Sabbath after Passover
recite poetry
at Hafez's tomb
touch my forehead to the clay earth of Jamkaran
where the Mahdi is hidden
but everywhere present.
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