Nasser Alsinan
—
Rose Water Elegy
I stitch the sky at its tearing seams and pour sunlight into
an urn. I leave it at the cemetery and go back to your
house. No one is inside. I am waiting for you. Your coffee
still stains the carpet. I steal the coins tucked between
the couch cushions and head to the park. I throw your
coins on grass patches, dirty fountains, old pillows,
dirty fountains. I go back to your house and I see you
waiting for me by the door. It smells like rose water. You
hand me a basket of berries and I eat them all, staining my
memory. I don’t want to leave but I have to leave
to get you a gift. I get you your urn and I go back to your
home. No one is inside. It smells like your home. I trip over
the coffee-stained carpet and I break your urn, spilling
sunlight on the floor like overflowing rose water.
I am waiting for you. I’ll buy you another gift.
I’ll tell you everything. I want to tell you everything.
monologues on home
the windows are closed.
the dogs are off their leashes.
police circle the blocks.
kids circle the blocks.
the flowers are made of neon lights.
airbags don’t work.
the red lights don’t work.
people are crashing into lights like flies.
the screens are black. the coffins are black
the sky is black.
blood is staining the pavement.
this is my blood.
Nasser Alsinan is from Qatif, Saudi Arabia. His work has been previously published in Barzakh, the literary magazine of the University of Albany, SUNY.
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