The person who snatches the glove rarely understands what is beneath. Anna releases the literal winter within Elsa in a heated moment. Elsa takes that unwanted first step into the unknown, toward finding-out what she's capable of doing-- forced to embrace the risk of loss. I never wanted that moment, either. I know what it feels like to be a storm pretending to be a statue; to try to hold 'the stage'; to believe that life depends upon a glove. She loses control. They call her a monster. She flees. Her fears come true and even worse. Feel that with me.
I feel like I need to get this off of my chest: I lacked courage all along. Just now I asked myself "why don't I feel like writing even though I know I want to be an author?" yet another instance in scores of times. This time I answered myself honestly: "because I don't want… Continue reading A River to Wash the Pain
He left when he heard I was graduating. I wanted to follow him into the hallway and plead that I could drop my capstone class and hang around for another year but too many pieces of me were invested in matriculating. I wished him a good day and listened to the door shut behind him.… Continue reading Smashed Pear (entry fragment)
Airplanes are the space-age cask for fermenting questions about memory and emotion. Jorge Luis Borges was a frequent ‘companion’ of mine on transcontinental flights but, as I returned from Iowa, I wanted only to gaze from the window. I was looking into the distance– imagining myself squeezing out the portal and running into the sun… Continue reading Mega Man X Complex: Vile
I must be still, if I am to enter the chrysalis. In order to slough the thick skin that has retained my guts, along with all my potential, I have to allow my eyes to glaze over and the chill hunger of winter engulf me... Fireworks pierced the air above manger square, buzzing a passing… Continue reading Epiphany & Beyond
The phoenix of popular imagination does not belong flat on his back, atop a broken couch and cuddled with his trumpet, in the cave beneath the Zoughbi house. I was sore from the previous night’s stress-release workout. Still, by the time Rajaee found me in my hiding place, my brain was busy piecing apart the… Continue reading The Phoenix in the Olive Tree
I was walking up the street with my new colleague from Sweden (Dawwid) and I noticed all the little ones from the nearby girls’ elementary school scampering down the hill in their matching dresses. It bubbled to mind how I miss writing about the intimate details of peoples’ lives in Palestine. Last fall at this… Continue reading Torn to Pieces