Kirsten Le Harivel: Washing the dishes

Return I want to go back, but not go back to my house. I want to go back to my hometown. Go home, back to the arms of my family. Go back to foods that I miss – the blue of kerabu rice, the fragrance of nasi lemak with spicy sambal. I miss that so much. Now I am in other people’s lands. But I know that I won’t explore forever in other people’s countries, always thought of as an immigrant. One day I will definitely return, and at that time, I will board a Malaysian Airlines flight. Upon arrival, the flight attendant will make an announcement. Not ‘Welcome’ because that is for tourists. But an announcement to the citizens…

After Gabrielle (Einstein in Berlin, whale sex, angry heavenly waters) Cyclone. Rain since 5 a.m. in a tiny house, a former post bus without wheels. The Tasman Sea in tears. Drumming and sighing. Flash floods crash from the awning onto the riveted barrel vault of the roof. The sea disappeared in a rainy haze. Ancient Kahikateas in the valley swaying. Not like fronds in the stream, not like lions’ manes in the steppe wind, and not like gigantic eyeless beings either, the kind you find on the distant planets of sci-fi movies. In a clearer moment, the white horses of the sea appear between the mountain flanks. Horizonless, upwards, open towards the sky. Yesterday, at low tide, we walked across

"رباعی رمضان" "پرستو کماندار و جمشید علی نسب" من با خود رازی دارم: گز اصفهان نگاهش داشتم از نوروز تا رمضان خواب آلود، سحری همراه با خانواده سریع خوردم، قبل از صدای اذان با طلوع آفتاب اما بودم من گرسنه نه غذا، نه انرژی، نه آب، تشنه ی تشنه ساعتها و دقایق را می شمارم تا افطار تا هدیه کنم همه گزها را به خانواده Ramadan Rubaiyat I have a secret: Gaz from Isfahan, I kept from Nowruz until Ramadan, Sleepy, I eat Sahri with family, Quick! Eat up before the call of Azan. With the light of day, I will be hungry, No food, water, or energy. Thirsty, Counting down hours, and minutes to Iftar, When I can share…