30 hours of travel like a little oud by the river, in all of its longing and hesitation
On the Shore at dusk near a ship that never sailed
Nana traveled with her Gedoo to England for cancer treatments? My grandmother and her traditional waterpipe
A little corner of Ardiya
Gentle sea rain and independent Kuwaiti filmmakers speaking from their hearts, reminded me how much I believe in the independent arts
The way Fawaz introduced himself.
Passing camels in green winter coats.
Hundreds of bubushir dragonflies with messages to bring.
The gentleness of an afternoon in Khabari Al-Awazem, where olive branches burned and herders offered us fresh milk
Self-Portrait. Bneid Al-Gar 1989
I just woke up from a dream about you.
Listening to Carlo's heart break in Corrales
The poem your Uncle Bader had written on the wall at their old house in sharq. His handwriting was beautiful. It was about love being a burden, desire a poison. A parallelogram of an eager heart.
Happy endless blue sky, nightstand with AlSanousi's novels, and evening rain.
My Aunt Kheiriya's little corner in Rumaithiya smells like flowers and sounds like birds, an indescript Hussainiya, she's so petite and beautiful, a handful of hours in her home
We remember, of course we remember
It's so easy to be a woman, like doing handstands with tigers.
Worried to be sitting alone by the river, I saw three cranes land.
I loved going to my grandpa's house in Adailiya, and now I love listening to my mom's stories about her youth there.
Mama's youth in Old Sharq
Kayla Lyall and Carlos Menchaca, Caña in the Bosque
He took his boat out at night because the water was as still as olive oil. Alone, he was startled by a swimming cow.
With the philosopher in her apartment half-past one
Apart from the wild boars, it's like magic being with Alex
who sits with me through everything.
Roman Aqueducts and a fig tree at the stream
on a hike behind their home in Le Tholonet
When I felt shy as a child
Summers like boars far from the sea
11 p.m. watermelon and black tea with my dad at the sea.
He was so funny, and he was always humming music to himself.
How do you like to celebrate
The costumer at the National Institute of Flamenco Arts making masks during the pandemic.
When I was 17 my parents moved back to Kuwait and I would visit them during the summers. I would go on after-midnight swims in the sea with them.
Trying to fit in my first morning in New York City.
Pretending to be a local tailor. Who was my grandmother hiding?
People will burn the anguish, anxiety, and gloom of their past year in Santa Fe.
Under the weight of locusts and grief,
people saw him burning his old coat
among the jasmine plants
Poet and artist Federico Garcia Lorca bringing theater to rural villages, uplifiting flamenco cante, and creating art under fascism.
Patrilineally not fitting in.
National Hispanic Cultural Center Book Festival Poster
Traveling between cities and spending a night alone, April was met with unexpected company.
Each year, Noah walks from Albuquerque to the Santuario de Chimayó with his guitarrón.
Summer dreams and places I often pass or see
In a dream I was in Kuwait and coming back to Albuquerque. The only reason stopping me from taking the boat was the night.
My father liked to write poetry.
Alex took me to see Cezanne's studio.
Me + Mohammed after the antiquities museum
My dad really, really wanted me to be strong, independent, and educated. When I feel scared, I can still hear him pushing me through.
When me and Alex met, we went to every art exhibit, movie, and performance we could get to. We ran around all of Paris, and when I felt homesick, she invited me to the sea with her family.
Illuminating beauty in the darkness.
We ran into a family of wild boars.
30 hours of travel like a little oud by the river, in all of its longing and hesitation
On the Shore at dusk near a ship that never sailed
Nana traveled with her Gedoo to England for cancer treatments? My grandmother and her traditional waterpipe
A little corner of Ardiya
Gentle sea rain and independent Kuwaiti filmmakers speaking from their hearts, reminded me how much I believe in the independent arts
The way Fawaz introduced himself.
Passing camels in green winter coats.
Hundreds of bubushir dragonflies with messages to bring.
The gentleness of an afternoon in Khabari Al-Awazem, where olive branches burned and herders offered us fresh milk
Self-Portrait. Bneid Al-Gar 1989
I just woke up from a dream about you.
Listening to Carlo's heart break in Corrales
The poem your Uncle Bader had written on the wall at their old house in sharq. His handwriting was beautiful. It was about love being a burden, desire a poison. A parallelogram of an eager heart.
Happy endless blue sky, nightstand with AlSanousi's novels, and evening rain.
My Aunt Kheiriya's little corner in Rumaithiya smells like flowers and sounds like birds, an indescript Hussainiya, she's so petite and beautiful, a handful of hours in her home
We remember, of course we remember
It's so easy to be a woman, like doing handstands with tigers.
Worried to be sitting alone by the river, I saw three cranes land.
I loved going to my grandpa's house in Adailiya, and now I love listening to my mom's stories about her youth there.
Mama's youth in Old Sharq
Kayla Lyall and Carlos Menchaca, Caña in the Bosque
He took his boat out at night because the water was as still as olive oil. Alone, he was startled by a swimming cow.
With the philosopher in her apartment half-past one
Apart from the wild boars, it's like magic being with Alex
who sits with me through everything.
Roman Aqueducts and a fig tree at the stream
on a hike behind their home in Le Tholonet
When I felt shy as a child
Summers like boars far from the sea
11 p.m. watermelon and black tea with my dad at the sea.
He was so funny, and he was always humming music to himself.
How do you like to celebrate
The costumer at the National Institute of Flamenco Arts making masks during the pandemic.
When I was 17 my parents moved back to Kuwait and I would visit them during the summers. I would go on after-midnight swims in the sea with them.
Trying to fit in my first morning in New York City.
Pretending to be a local tailor. Who was my grandmother hiding?
People will burn the anguish, anxiety, and gloom of their past year in Santa Fe.
Under the weight of locusts and grief,
people saw him burning his old coat
among the jasmine plants
Poet and artist Federico Garcia Lorca bringing theater to rural villages, uplifiting flamenco cante, and creating art under fascism.
Patrilineally not fitting in.
National Hispanic Cultural Center Book Festival Poster
Traveling between cities and spending a night alone, April was met with unexpected company.
Each year, Noah walks from Albuquerque to the Santuario de Chimayó with his guitarrón.
Summer dreams and places I often pass or see
In a dream I was in Kuwait and coming back to Albuquerque. The only reason stopping me from taking the boat was the night.
My father liked to write poetry.
Alex took me to see Cezanne's studio.
Me + Mohammed after the antiquities museum
My dad really, really wanted me to be strong, independent, and educated. When I feel scared, I can still hear him pushing me through.
When me and Alex met, we went to every art exhibit, movie, and performance we could get to. We ran around all of Paris, and when I felt homesick, she invited me to the sea with her family.
Illuminating beauty in the darkness.
We ran into a family of wild boars.
