Home Is Not a Country

by Safia Elhillo

  & i can’t help but feel stupid for talking tearfully into thin air

  but i continue yasmeen, there has to be some way i can help

  & her voice takes on a stubborn knot i can almost picture

  the way she shakes her head the new expressions

  she would make of our familiar features nima, listen to me.

  i don’t know why i’m like this. i don’t know what it all means.

  i don’t know how to change anything & i don’t know anything that

  matters except that i can help you get home.

  i’ve never wanted to do anything good before, really,

  but you’re good & you’re kind & you’re so full of love

  my face gets hot as she says this shut up & let me finish,

  i mean it even after i literally tried to kill you, you didn’t

  think twice about saving me you learned this huge thing about

  your dad & instead of knocking a hookah over onto his stupid lap,

  your first thought was about helping your mother

  & i don’t know, it taught me something so anyway

  could you just shut up for a second & let me do my good thing?

  & as she mentions baba & the cafe the idea slams into me

  yasmeen, what if we find you a life you don’t have to steal?

  she’s silent for a second & i take this as permission

  to keep going & hope it doesn’t instead mean

  she’s gone again yasmeen? i’m here.

  what do you mean a life i don’t have to steal?

  it might not work but we have to try. but is there a way for you

  to be less invisible? i can’t concentrate when i keep thinking

  you’ve disappeared & as she flickers back into my sight

  her face is once again my face

  but rendered in gray scale like an old photograph

  The Plan

  yasmeen stumbles along beside me

  blurred again around the edges

  her fingers going increasingly transparent

  where are we going? & how do you know this

  is going to work? & also while we’re here could you not

  say things like ‘a life you don’t have to steal’ like you think

  you’re better than me? i look over warily but she’s smiling

  playful & i join her i’m not saying i’m better but look

  you’re the one who called me ‘full of love’ & i can tell

  i’ve embarrassed her i steel myself for another fight

  until just in time the cafe looms again

  before us not yet emptied for the night

  The Cafe

  we slip inside unseen & weave between

  the tables yasmeen opens her mouth

  to protest & i shush her striding back

  toward the table where my father sits

  with his friend with a pang i look away

  from him planning his departure & i turn

  to yasmeen remember what his friend was saying

  before they started planning the big escape?

  he & his wife want a child & the child won’t appear

  is that enough possibility for you?

  the plan dawns solidly on her restored face reanimating

  with its new mission the man rises from the table

  & drains his glass shrugs into his jacket

  & claps my father on the shoulder

  before slouching toward the door

  i pull yasmeen into a hug tears pricking in my throat

  go with him go get born go get a body

  & before she can speak

  i’ve pushed her out the door behind him

  Yasmeen

  i stride triumphant back toward

  my grandmother’s house glowing with

  the victory of hopefully saving yasmeen

  no longer my sister never actually

  my sister maybe never to be seen

  again but alive somewhere alongside me

  our paths untangled & moving in tranquil parallel

  i miss my strange almost-friend her strange

  & supernatural company but i hope i’ve saved her

  & now i need to find a way to make my name my own

  Leaving

  i pass through the gate into the garden

  & feel my stomach knotting tightly when

  i realize i never asked yasmeen how

  to warn my mother & before i have

  a plan as if summoned my mother emerges

  my father close behind her his face

  tight & expressionless as she reaches for his hand & says

  i missed you today i hope the cinema will cheer you up

  & for lack of a better idea

  when she passes me i lean in & hiss into

  her ear don’t trust him he’s going

  to leave you & step back as she startles

  & gazes frantically about to find of course

  nothing & she climbs looking troubled

  into the car

  Breaking

  i watch them argue through the window

  her face shining with tears his knuckles

  sharp as he grips the steering wheel

  he does not look at her & as she motions

  to her stomach with a plea he strikes

  the dashboard says something curt

  & cutting & i watch her mouth open

  then close she lowers her head

  & the tears pour silently into her lap

  The Officers

  before she can unlock the door to exit

  a white pickup truck piled high

  with young men in fatigues screeches

  to a halt beside my parents’ little car

  five officers debark & crowd toward

  the window on my father’s side one knocks

  maliciously on the glass & leans down

  grinning when the window lowers & they all

  see the beautiful girl in the passenger seat

  who is this woman? they call into the window

  & my father collecting himself replies

  she is my wife no way, so young another

  officer mocks we’d like to ask her a few

  questions licking his chops like a wolf

  my father begins to ease the window back up

  until one of the men blocks it with the butt

  of his rifle snarls we want to ask her

  some questions then give us the girl & you

  can leave & it all goes still & silent

  as i remember my mother’s story they shot him

  & i lift a large rock from the others strewn on the road

  & aim it hard into the knot of men they scatter

  & peer into the dark the car has not moved so i heave

  another rock & narrowly miss an officer’s face

  they draw their guns & begin to shoot i seize up in fear

  until i see every bullet passing through me like air

  & lodging into tree trunks parked cars clanging

  into the tin gates of houses & in the clamor my father

  slams his foot down on the car’s accelerator & speeds off

  the rifle stuck & rattling against the window its officer

  jogging along with it until he loses his footing

  & falls into the street & my father does not die

  Leaving

  when the road is emptied & quiet the car

  inches slowly back toward the house m
y father

  helping my shaking mother through the gate & into

  the courtyard where they cling to each other

  in a long embrace until her sobs have quieted

  stay she pleads or let me come with you

  what happened to us? we love each other

  you love me stay & he will not look at her

  instead just shakes his head & leaves her

  frozen in the courtyard as he strides into the house

  Gone

  i stand rooted with my mother in the courtyard

  as she is racked by new tears & i also

  can’t believe that he’s gone i thought i’d helped

  i thought i’d fixed it our broken history full

  of loss full of people & places once loved

  & now simply gone i thought i’d stolen one back

  to our side reclaimed one of our losses

  from history’s sharper teeth from time’s gaping mouth

  but i was wrong he was never meant to be ours my father

  he was always meant to be gone it was always bigger

  than anything my small tampering could change

  & my mother & i were always meant to belong

  to no one but each other

  Left Behind

  my mother is crumpled in her bed the pillow

  on my father’s side undisturbed & smooth

  his few clothes & books & records tossed into

  the little car & gone no one to rub her back

  & wipe her face as she convulsed all night with grief

  hours pass & the afternoon fills the room with slants

  of yellow light a small knock goes unanswered

  then another & finally khaltu hala slips quietly

  into the room sits sad & quiet at the edge of the bed

  considering the hurt radiating from my mother’s curled form

  they stay in silence for a long moment hala

  places a palm on my mother’s searing forehead & tears

  start pouring down the sides of my mother’s upturned face

  pooling in her ears down her neck

  by sunset khaltu hala convinces her to sit up

  & sip water feeds her pieces of cut fruit & listens

  humming in sympathy as my mother tells her tale

  & by the end her face is creased with worry as my mother

  says quietly i can’t raise his child alone all she

  will do is remind me of him i have to give her away

  & my stomach aches into a knot & i wonder

  if i’ve made everything worse

  twilight darkens the room & hala rises to leave

  mama is sending me away to america

  i have to go home to pack & listen my mother

  raises her eyes to hala without speaking aisha, come with me

  i won’t leave you here alone & i’ll be so alone without you

  let’s go & start over away from everything that hurt us

  The Baby

  when hala is gone i take her seat at my mother’s bedside

  & pass hands she cannot see across her face

  over her hair

  she stiffens looks wildly around the room cries out

  in the wrong direction who is that? who’s there?

  it feels wrong to scare her but i need to change her mind

  mama i plead it’s me your daughter it’s me

  & i call to her my name i’m your daughter

  i need you we have a whole life together together

  you’re all i need not him you’re all i need please

  & my mother slows her frantic search around the room

  & looks awed down at her stomach touches it

  reverently & in the quiet wraps her voice around

  my name

  nima repeats it like a prayer nima nima

  my saving grace & as she says my name a chasm

  opens where once lay my father’s abandoned pillow

  colors swirling as if in water before settling

  into a scene i peer into the opening & see the bathroom

  of our apartment water running into the tub about

  to overflow i look back at my mother hurt but surviving

  cradling her belly crooning my name to herself nima

  The Portal

  the gap in this world is pulling me toward it

  like a current inside it the bathtub has begun

  to overflow glistening onto the tile

  & i don’t know if i’m ready to leave i have

  so much left to do to see i have to study

  my grandmother’s long-lost face learn the lives

  of all those i didn’t know before their great losses

  the men in the band i want to know what happens

  to haitham’s father if he is ever seen again

  i want to know why they all left & undo all the damage

  undo the wars the hunger the kidnapped women

  & jailed men returning months later looking hollowed out

  hair shorn close against their skulls i want to fix it all

  i want to help in this world where i don’t feel so helpless

  so hunted where i don’t have to watch haitham’s

  broken face without knowing if he’s still alive

  behind it where my arabic flows easily

  from my throat & the athan rings out five times

  a day from the minarets in a voice husky with magic

  i want to eat guava & skip stones into the stinking river

  i want to watch my mother’s youth her dancer’s

  walk her life vibrant with friendship & parties

  styled like a film star in her yellow dress not tired

  not at work & instead laughing dancing

  clapping along to all the songs she loves her unbroken

  country pulled warm around her & i fight hard

  against the portal’s pull i reach to grip a bedpost

  & my hands move clean through it like it’s water

  i grab at everything around me as it dissolves back

  to history my feet now submerged to the ankle

  in the chasm i make one final

  reach for my mother’s frozen arm & it blurs away

  the portal moving up my legs to swallow me whole

  The Portal

  the portal is uncomfortably hot pulls me by its current

  toward the other side & all around me

  swirling like autumn leaves are hundreds

  of photographs i’ve never seen

  arriving to paper the walls of the tunnel

  in one my mother pregnant at the airport

  smiling hugely into her new life in another

  my mother cradles a tiny baby in awe

  one taken the winter when i first befriended haitham

  when my mother bought me a new coat & shivered

  every day in her layers of sweaters my mother

  folding me tiny paper boats to float in the bathtub

  my mother demonstrating a movement to a group of girls

  twisting to mirror it my mother smiling broadly

  beneath a sign that reads traditional dance classes by aisha

  my mother in a newspaper clipping whose caption reads

  founder of local dance troupe banat al-nima describes dance

  as her connection to a lost home & in every photo

  my hand is clutched tight in hers or around her leg

  or tugging on her hem in every photo we are together<
br />
  not a single one where either one of us is alone & in a rush

  of warm air the portal deposits me feetfirst & fully clothed

  into the bathtub splashing water over the sides

  my mother knocking frantically outside the bathroom door

  Home

  i call to her & i hear her voice weighted with relief a sob

  catching in her throat you’re here you’re here

  i thought i’d lost you where have you been all day?

  & i heave myself out of the tub to unlock the door

  dripping a trail of bathwater behind me

  my mother pulls me to her my wet clothes soaking hers

  her tears spilling into my hair & the words pour out

  in both languages from my mouth i’m sorry i’m sorry

  you’re all the family i need you’re all the parent i need

  i’m sorry thank you for making us this life from nothing

  thank you for choosing me i’m sorry i choose you too

  i choose you you’re all i need you’re all of it

  & we stand like this clasped & sobbing

  until i start to shiver in my still-drenched clothes

  she wraps me in a towel sends me

  to my room to change

  The Photographs

  & in the apartment outside all but one of the photographs

  of my father have disappeared replaced instead by the ones

  from the portal the one with me as a newborn

  framed in the living room

  the one at the airport taped to the mirror

  of my mother’s dresser

  in the one on the coffee table we perch

  by a bathtub crowded with paper boats

  & in the absence of his face i finally pay attention

  to the others all over the apartment

  that have been there all along

  my grandmother my mother surrounded

  by friends & smiling enormously into the camera

  my mother grinning beside khaltu hala

  my mother holding a bouquet of flowers

  surrounded by girls in dancers’ clothes

  what is newest is a poster advertising