Bus Journals I (On fathers)

Grief left me lonely, 

with thoughts that never stay still 

How much pressure does one thought create? 

How much pressure does another alleviate? 

But then there is the reality of the world,  

how it never stops, never waits 

I find myself waiting— 

Time has not stopped, I see the clock ticking 

& I await patiently for your return 

You've never set foot in the California hills,  

but I see your return so clearly 

You've never tried the weed here  

but I imagine you smoking with me on the roof 

Leg over the other, 

telling me how life is not that hard 

What’s hard is loving somebody 

& living with a kind of love that radiates 

I can see you telling me to redecorate the apartment 

That the coffee pot has been on the stove for too long 

That my closet is missing a thobe,  

my living room is missing a Quran & a prayer matt 

That my TV doesn’t have Arabic news 

That my house is lacking in dates & sunflower seeds  

but what’s truly missing, is you 

You in my arms 

You on my doorstep with bags of fresh grocery & fruits 

You cutting up watermelons & drinking fresh juice 

You're always in my heart 

I miss you the most on louder nights 

When the night is rambunctious & wild 

I think of you & ask if you would've liked how we jive 

You would've liked our vibe 

But you never come in through the door 

You never respond to my texts 

You never call when I forget the world or— 

when I don't react to my niece’s new dress 

Only grief comes in without knocking 

& I sit in silence 

Awaiting your return 

& I will always wait 

Just like I did when I was fifteen staying up late,  

excited for sweets & the play we will watch together