Zeinab Al-Hasani
The Man in Khaki
the sunset sang to the dust the day I met you,
man in khaki
I was gripping my mother’s hand
breathing palm trees and dates
karrada was pulsing with fresh aish
it all changed when I met you,
my favourite visitor
in an inside-out khaki costume
leaned against the biggest toy I’ve ever seen
you cleared your throat
after finishing your last bite
smiled with your hands as if
you knew I needed a better father
I think you had your own
the way you taught me the word spoon
marched back and forwards with your three friends
letting me tug the string at your necks
as you mimicked each other over and over
the dust smothered the sunset the day I met you,
man in khaki
I kept dreaming about that day
hearing the rumbles of your tank
it didn’t sound like a toy anymore
I watched you eat your packaged lunch
while your spoon skipped around our faces
your smile wouldn’t stop
the red ink of our bodies dripped,
stained your khaki costume
crumbs got stuck between your teeth
you had more than three friends
I saw you all with your thousand lenses
through our thousand rear windows
I tried to tell you about the crumbs,
but the silver reflection only showed you what you were fed.
A Letter to the Strange
Woman on the Plane
I never got your name
maybe I forgot it
I was only a dove when we met
I think you knew
you stroked my feathers
noticed my white
you bit a cucumber in half
placed it at my beak
how did you know I loved them?
I nibbled and crunched and cried
a pool of tears that flooded the plane
I hoped it would drown the engines
reverse earth’s magnetic field
return me to my ancestors
my feathers were all soaked
they started leaking brown
you dried them with your hands
left me smelling like cardamom
collected my tears with buckets
of sumac and pistachios
you morphed between drink carts rattling
faces I had flown by
Good afternoon passengers
the man at the local corner shop
his worn out hands
smile-painted face
places I would soon forget
Flight attendants, prepare for landing please
markets selling my favourite kebabs
filled with toum and love
you picked me up,
said goodbye in little words
set me free into the sky
watched my brown disappear with the clouds,
where my coat will always linger
I wonder if you’ve met too many doves to remember me
that where I am now
cucumbers are sliced
served on the side
packaged in jars
where I am now,
I know everyone’s name
but I’ve never met strangeness again.
Having a fragmented identity woven by immigration, two cultures and shared generational struggles, Zeinab Al-Hasani’s poetry combines childhood experiences with adult reflections.