Aida Bardissi

shatt iskindereya/ شط اسكندرية

i. in a dream, i am back in my uncle’s apartment
car horns travel to the balcony and dust stains my back.
we don’t speak of the blood that once
pooled on the concrete anymore.

ii. the women of my father’s family sit
crosslegged, mango peels strewn across
floor and incense burning the men far from us
i sing a song about the alexandrian seashore
an ode to the soft outline of land that mirrors our hips.
the music awakens a kind of movement
i imagine sirens make while they dance –
a kind of lethargic femininity / we learn
to warp our bodies against the violence
of monsoon season or men.

iii. in a dream, i lay on the mediterranean sea.
when the zaghareet crescendo, my body rises
drenched in a white gown
the violin and tabla play my entrance song
as i walk along the corniche.
a man claiming he loves me awaits.
when i get to him, the sea pulls me back in.
i hear his voice damning me as i sink.

iv. my aunt’s kitchen is a small thing
spices spilling, zaa’tar and yansoon
drenching the counter. mixes in
a bit of her heart, to taste.
i wonder how it never runs out. for dessert,
cornucopia of guava & pomegranate & sugar cane.
the heat is unbearable. we stain everything.

v. in a dream i am walking along zan’et el sitat
a marketplace named after the masses of women
who come to shop in the narrow streets.
i walk with a man tied to my hip,
with eyes to mirror coffee and hair as curled as mine.
the sea lies soft and easy. i think of the women before me,
of the curse i carry in my heart. i tell him
i am stricken with giving too much. he tells me
how we eat until we are bursting and how
the rain stops when the sea is full —