Salaam

My friends, I have placed my forehead

on the woven prayer mat in a mosque

 

And I have drunk tea in tiny, heavy glasses

cross-legged on a Persian rug in a living room

 

At the mosque I pulled on a long cotton skirt

from a bin at the door

 

And at the break of the Ramadan fast I said

salaam to my neighbor’s (my best friend’s)

mother’s friends and sisters and air-kissed

cheeks like French sophisticates

 

In America my father and her father could play

backgammon with no hard feelings they said

welcome come in sit down have some tea

 

In the entrance to the mosque in a dusty town

north of Jerusalem I heard the tongues

of my father’s father’s father and lowered my knees

 

Next to the hot strong tea always honey sweet saffron

and rose pastries on a delicate white plate