Persian princess insania
By Leyla Momeny
August 16, 2000
The Iranian
I am america-girl:
britannica irania
persian princess insania
lavash skin, aquiline nose,
my heart emerged as a golden oud,
well-mannered and traveled,
have reached the skirts of Isfahan
arrived alongside my mother
where birthright yellow fish
swim in between my toes,
I was named after baklavah.
born in iran
three years shy of the mighty hijab
my grandmother stole lust-filled glances
inside the emperor's gates.
two decades of shy smiling
have gotten me far--
my feet planted firmly
to waters of ambiguity
tell me you love me
without pomegranate-stained stones.
the men in my family
never learned how to cry
they built cities over their own dreams
engineers of a keener reason
rolex-wristed namesakes holding my hand,
nihilist-hedonist patriarchs taught me to fly!
my chastity, preserved.
twenty-two years
fermenting,
slow and depart
alongside this nile.
a secret spot under my spine
is targeted for assasinations,
shivering, deranged, hairs cocked,
caught in a world
of ancient goddesses,
I am limestone.
unveiled, arms wide,
a raven-haired pit
infected by trees.
I clung to tehrangeles
felt comfortable in leather,
even understood
the chinese, spanish, mexican faces
cemented on the silk roads.
and when the surrealists in my country
rejected the dead,
I watched their sons masterbate
with identity and isolation--
curious and detached,
I summoned a bloated airplane
to carry away their mothers. . .
and I, misplaced among arabs, latinas, I-am-half italians,
no longer believe in us.
