my key lets me into a huge manor, the heavy oak door swinging inward to welcome me. on my right is a raised living room, walled, with arches cut into it. one of the arches has a cloth hanging, a transparent cloth. once i open the door, i feel someone inside the house. i tense, expecting to see an intruder. rather than removing my boots i wear them into the foyer, dirtying the polished wood floor beneath my feet.

through the first archway, where the cloth hangs, i see the moving silhouette of a woman. her back is to me, dark hair flowing against her long tunic. she is walking away from me. i take a few more steps and look through another archway, open and unclothed. i see a brown woman picking up a prayer mat, a jah namaaz, rolled up after use. it is my mother, my muslim mother who has been dead for almost three years.

she is wearing her glasses, her tunic is a deep gray-blue that reaches the floor. in a moment she is before me and i embrace her, kissing her cheek and descending to my knees. her feet sit in platform sandals, the kind she wore when she was alive because she said she couldn’t walk without a little bit of heel anymore. i kiss each of her toes, starting with her right foot. i don’t know why i start with her second toe.

do i rise and embrace her again after that? i don’t know. the dream stretches on and on, one of my sisters enters the dream, the one i grew up with. the one i was a baby with. there are others around, other women. during one moment in the dream, the three of us are together and i can’t stop crying. my mother, after all this time, is still telling me not to cry, not realizing that the coming together of this world and the next is overwhelming for the living.

i was sleeping next to my lover when my mother visited me in this dream. i had been praying for a visit from her, i had been praying for a beautiful dream to interrupt the obscure, twisted ones that seemed to be filling my mind every night and morning. i had blamed my mother in life and after her death, i had promised when i washed her body before her burial to forgive her, let everything go, and yet some resentment remained. it pushed her spirit away. she stopped her visits during my waking hours because the ghostliness of them scared me. it was like living in a ouija board, like i did when i was younger. fascinated by the power of calling spirits to me. but i prayed for her return, i asked for a peaceful reunion, and i was granted my desire.

i recall the tan cowboy boots against the pavement, the happiness in my step as i heard my lover’s voice on the phone. i turn the key into an unknown mansion, and the dream begins again.

© 2009 t zaman

lashes

searching for the flavor

that pungent

that sweet

that peppered

that home

the ingredients in english

don’t measure up

don’t mix right

to create the taste

i remember

knocking coconuts off trees

starfruit sprinkled with salt

cayenne riding on breath

the way we smell like our mother

homeland in a pot

bay leaf in a pan

frying memory

to preserve her

© 2008 tahminah zaman

i can taste my mother’s special bengali-style sharbath, sugared water full of sliced fruits, on my tongue. after a lifetime of being turned off by their roachlike exterior, i began eating dates, the prophet muhammad’s favorite way to break his ramzan fast, a few years ago. even the most expensive organic medjool dates don’t compare to the ones my mother brought home from hajj in makkah in 2004–their pits so soft i wondered how they had grown almonds in the center of the fruit.

my mother. all the flavors, scents, sounds, and gestures of ramzan that departed with her. her faith that slowly moved from blind to awake during the latter years of her life. the last moment i touched her body, preparing her for burial with my sister and cousin. the hundreds of people in a las vegas mosque who faced her coffin, lying eastward, on the day of her funeral. the visions don’t leave and i don’t want them to. two and a half of the longest years of my life, a life without my mother’s voice, her tender brown flesh, her nicotine-stained smile, and i wonder how i can possibly carry this burden of solitude. how i’ve lost my family in the course of this migration. how tired i am of struggling. how ready i am for changes.

a month or two ago, i had a dream visitation from my mother. only i was the one visiting her in the next world, reading a book beside her while she crocheted quietly. after awhile of sitting in silence, i gestured for her to come closer to me. “are you leaving now?” she asked me, and i said no, that i just wanted to hold her for awhile before going home to my other dreams.

i think part of me lives in the next world, sitting at her side as she rests after a short, hard life of 62 years. i’d like to think i keep her company there.

let the next one
know
to just love
to love just
to trust
love

let the next one
see
let the next love
be
the one
who knows
who sees
who loves
who trusts
who must

© 2008 tahminah zaman

© 2008 tahminah zaman

2. courageous, culturally rooted, earthy, secure, genuinely self-assured

3. excellent sense of self // runs own life // got the self-care thing down

4. present, supportive, sweet, and nurturing

5. super and spontaneously communicative and conscientious

6. verbal, vocal, and gifted writer

7. pragmatic // real // concrete

8. socially conscious entrepreneur

9. non-judgmental // drama-free // accepts an amazing woman as she is

10. unconventional // unique // extraordinary

11. cracks me up with his smart, naughty jokes and hip hop sensibility

12. committed to me and open to outside exploration

13. exciting, energetic and driven

14. tantric artist who can learn with me

15. deep and mellow

16. emotional and intellectual

17. at peace with all his facets

18. adventurous yet domestic

19. successful, accomplished and modest

20. artsy and creative

21. social, gentlemanly, affectionate, respectful

22. generous with love, time, energy

23. balanced relationship with family

24. has friends i’d choose

25. great cook

26. open to having a family in the Bay

27. attractive, active, in shape, & strong

28. has gotten self to therapy of some kind at some point (everybody hurts)

29. sagittarius, pisces, aquarius, taurus, or cancer

30. sexy & masculine

31. thick hair on head