My eyes are getting worse.

I have what some may call an irrational fear of microwaves. Of microwaves frying my ovaries, to be specific. Our microwave is at abdomen-level. I rarely use it, but when I do I linger in our pantry because I (irrationally) think that the waves can't travel sideways.

This is how I discovered a draft coming through the backdoor. I bought a thing to block the draft, but I won't know if it worked until I use the microwave again.

My mom asked if I'll be home on Monday because she's sending a package to me. I sent her a card last week intending to boost her confidence/self-esteem/whatever she's lacking/just to say, "Hey, I suppose I'm here for you and would reckon that I still love you." She cried and was so touched that she bought me something.

So I started sending cards to everyone. Just because.

I just bought two books: Modern Poetry of Pakistan and Best New Poets 2010 (edited by Claudia Emerson). I've been wanting poetry from under-appreciated cultures. I wish I was bilingual. I was starting to learn, but I lost my teacher. Well. I killed him.

Here:

Ghazal: The Luster of a Pearl Is Something Else (by Tanveer Abbasi)

The luster of a pearl is something else
The sparkle of eyes, something else

The depth of the sea is a reality
The heart of a poet, something else

The cooing of a dove is music
The roar of cannons, something else

Clouds change color at twilight
The nuclear cloud is something else

What is in the heart is on the lips as well
The poet's demeanor is something else

The body is a cage for the soul
A cage for the cage, something else

Look at the bloodstains and weep
Whose blood this is, something else

Pure gold shines bright
A smiling face is something else

Gold is good, and so is silver
The heart is something else

Hope is support enough, Tanveer
The fear of pain, something else