Ola Hadi
note to Adam
I halt
stand staring at the tree outside of my apartment
say sincerely
I wish this was an orange tree
you know, I could come out into this front yard
pick the fruit
like when I was young and we
with our small grasping hands picked
the lemons and the oranges
off the branches of the trees in our own backyards
instead of some alien commercial farm
producing what my land can not
and then the irony of my dependency
sold back to me
by the Vons grocer
funny, how these creation myths are
always about trees
call me Eve
and these words my offering to Adam
the fruit I live on
the fruit of living
I am wishing
and rethinking the fruits
of my labor
of my living
of my looking
and not looking
a half astep behind you
by the green, innocent tree
half noticing in the dim light of evening
how so suddenly-
your face became fresh-as if for the first time in my life-
finding the lines of your angular cheekbones
your virgin face
proud in its beauty
soft, and young, and so temporal
standing out against the accustomed-to-costume
of a hoodie
with fresh eyes
I hold you dear
closely
scrutinize our eternal love
against such a shifting/developing/progre
ponder why, for instance, you are beautiful to me
and I to you
without the usual blundering complaints
and accusations between
lovers
(well, almost without)
like God
my once lover
since betrayer
now
mostly
a half attended to
sticky-note-thought
God, you (or rather the idea of
you),
are so fucking
seductive
I look across
the parking lots
the stopped cars on the highway
crisscrossing each other
a view at the end of our walk
at the end of Madison Avenue
a view I’ve belittled in my head
often
as ugly
concrete
development
of a lazy, overweight, American society
like a lazy overweight American citizen
Christian-centric and American-centric
and full of plugged arteries, like those clogged freeways,
stuffed with too many French fries
(and at other times
I have found the same view
stunning in its transitory-ness
in its reality
it will not last, and that somehow,
restores its beauty)
too many French fries
too many French words
gendered
like Arabic
like the Arabic God
who is in that
grand
intimidating
Quranic Poem
genderless
who is
but “who is”
in English translation sounds goofy
so we find our exegesis
in HIM
but He is not Her
but He is “who is” and genderless
and so you see
we lose who is
crawl back pathetically
to the base of our cerebral cortex
our animal brains
the part hungry for hierarchy
sniffing for authority figures
and Alpha-Males
and God
and/or the creator
I am sniffing around too
only I didn’t know I was
I want a view
I want a road
like those clogged artery freeways
afterall
how do we have so much built up knowledge
about facts
on science
on math
on civil engineering
on how to knit a Christmas sweater
and only
Jewish, Christian, Muslim
spiritualities to try on
as the only
Thing
to wear
to the spiritual party
they make their invitations out
so properly
some plead
give me passages to read out of the New Testament
some point their fingers and try to intimidate
shame, pressure
you in
and others
flat out tell you that you ain’t special enough
to have God’s love
but they have a roadmap
and I don’t
not sure we have the same end
destination to spiritual fulfillment
but
we have so much in common
you have your animal brain
and I, even with my dissenting voice
my critical gaze, I have the same base brain
and though, from time to time,
with discipline, I try to tune out my humanness
it is
inherently what I am
and I, like you, am only human
I, like you, am searching
perhaps my road to spiritual fulfillment
is like yours
is living
and that is the bridge to enlightenment
the journey of living
my/yours
He/(she who is not mentioned)
is Who
Who is
the only way
to Who is
is through
(it could be me
it could be the river of Gautama
-a simultaneous feeling!)
yet! there are too many ways to live
to count
you can get through
through your life
a meta-life, through, trans
transcending meaning
with meaning
and deeper understanding
you can live your life
staring at a computer
or in the wild green jungles
of your spiritual freeways
which ever way
it goes
(Adam, did that take you anywhere?)
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