RR

Kfar Aabida, 2016

"Boat House" by Racha Moussa

After Belle Isle, 1949


A stinking summer in Beirut,
I am leaving for London soon. 


By dusk, your Volkswagen finds itself
by the coastal hamlet & diamond water.


We don’t know who Philip Levine is yet
but we, too, are looking to baptize ourselves. 


The garbage mountains not in sight when
your hands hold mine under the inky sea
although if we inhale deeply, Karantina
isn’t too far. 


I catch your face reflected in the disc moon,
your savannah eyes in the opaque water.


You open a palm to show me sunset in Athens,
where you first saw light. 


We didn’t bring our towels, so I dance
to shake off the salt & your eyes do
their little crinkle. 


I think it is the olive tree that whistles
when our post-shawarma bellies squeal
with the cold wind. A man in a white singlet
walks past with disapproving stares how dare
we be in love in this forlorn world?


For the first time I refuse to care


the cities we occupy seem distant underneath
a sky scattered with dandelion seeds.

 

Contributor
Nur Turkmani

Nur Turkmani is a Syrian-Lebanese researcher based in Beirut, working on economic developent, gender, and secularism in the Middle East. She was previously Rusted Radishes' Managing Editor and is currently an editor at large. Nur's writing and poetry have been published in Eclectica, Sukoon, Juxtaprose, London Poetry, the New Arab, and others.

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Nur Turkmani is a Syrian-Lebanese researcher based in Beirut, working on economic developent, gender, and secularism in the Middle East. She was previously <em>Rusted Radishes</em>' Managing Editor and is currently an editor at large. Nur's writing and poetry have been published in <em>Eclectica</em>, <em>Sukoon</em>, <em>Juxtaprose</em>, <em>London Poetry</em>, <em>the New Arab</em>, and others.

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