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Green Almonds and the Americans

By SHEREEN 1 year ago

Uncle Fayyad orders me to fetch his slippers. He slides his hand to the curved wood of dead Taita’s chair arm and closes fingers around it, spider like. “I don’t want to.” “Layla.” She took the glass my father held out to her, weighed it in her palm - he’s folding sheets of bread into his mouth, and not looking at his brother, not looking at me or her, but at the framed photo of his mother sitting on a shiny garbage can in Queens, Duke Ellington screaming on the stereo. Then she leaves for the kitchen. Uncle Fayyad’s eyes were clasped on mine. Continued.

The Sky’s Famine

By SHEREEN 5 minutes ago

Oak roots and stiff grass and rats have chewed the edges of the pavement for years. Ma says the land is slowly overtaking our road and our home. Dad says she’s sealed up all the artichokes in the fridge and won’t let him stuff our pillows with vines of jasmine or rosemary needles.

It’s Contagious

By SHEREEN 45 minutes ago

Remember Teita Qadisha. Green oil in the white ceramic bowl. Qadisha divining transmutations in the reaching and retreating of the liquid into the water. She found evil nesting in the neighbor’s heart, and traces of it in her dog and her homemade cheese.

Shereen! Confetti!

By SHEREEN 80 hours ago

How to Make Them Bear More

By TEITA ABLA and SHEREEN and TEITA SHEREEN and KATHERINE 73 years ago and 28 years ago

Tomatoes on the vine were splitting. Glossy and split to reveal the rough marbled flesh. And there, in a crux, between the upright velvet stalk and the curving lilt of a fruited branch was a miniature fringed leaf the size of a seed, emerging from the long smooth stalk to take precedence over the branch below. Some envoy of the larger plant embarks from the netherworld inside the stalk to arrive in the hot gray air. Or the water raining into the roots and emerging here, a hand in a glove of velvet green, reaching forth from the dark interior. Here are the shears.

I Crouched Between the Grape Vines, Anticipating the Release of Urine onto the Rocks

By SHEREEN Tomorrow morning

Two meters over, in the same wrought shadow: a brown rabbit. It licked its paws, the plush at its head and in the folds of its neck and in its rounded back bristling like a field of wheat before the first rain, its white skull sawing back and forth - splashing in and out of the sunlight falling through the serrated leaves - with the motion of its tongue.

Dad Brought His Other Wife

By SHEREEN 1 hour ago

She ate all the marzipan, her pink nails clicking, while my sister and I played tennis.

Window in the Water Jug

By TEITA SHEREEN 23 years ago

There was the studio and there was the windowless bodega where orange dusk light eddied in air thick with powder, before revealing a red clay water jug, a glazed dish, a sparrow walking the table between them. Continued.