{"id":7039,"date":"2022-02-15T09:23:23","date_gmt":"2022-02-15T07:23:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/?p=7039"},"modified":"2022-12-17T11:04:03","modified_gmt":"2022-12-17T09:04:03","slug":"l-a-story-poems-from-laila-halaby","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/l-a-story-poems-from-laila-halaby\/","title":{"rendered":"L.A. Story: Poems from Laila Halaby"},"content":{"rendered":"<figure id=\"attachment_7200\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-7200\" style=\"width: 1400px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-7200\" src=\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/city-scape-by-amman-artist-reem-mouasher.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1400\" height=\"1414\" srcset=\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/city-scape-by-amman-artist-reem-mouasher.jpg 1400w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/city-scape-by-amman-artist-reem-mouasher-100x100.jpg 100w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/city-scape-by-amman-artist-reem-mouasher-600x606.jpg 600w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/city-scape-by-amman-artist-reem-mouasher-297x300.jpg 297w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/city-scape-by-amman-artist-reem-mouasher-1014x1024.jpg 1014w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/city-scape-by-amman-artist-reem-mouasher-768x776.jpg 768w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/city-scape-by-amman-artist-reem-mouasher-1320x1333.jpg 1320w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1400px) 100vw, 1400px\" \/><figcaption id=\"caption-attachment-7200\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Cityscape by Amman artist <a href=\"https:\/\/www.reempaints.com\/about-1\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Reem Mouasher<\/a> (courtesy of the artist).<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<h4>\u00a0<\/h4>\n<h4>Laila Halaby<\/h4>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<div class=\"ose-vimeo ose-uid-4e4905953fcbe829920a9a8711203c9d ose-embedpress-responsive\" style=\"width:600px; height:550px; max-height:550px; max-width:100%; display:inline-block;\" data-embed-type=\"Vimeo\"><iframe loading=\"lazy\" allowFullScreen=\"true\" title=\"&quot;Morning Coffee&quot; from Laila Halaby\" src=\"https:\/\/player.vimeo.com\/video\/677583279?dnt=0&amp;app_id=122963&title=0&color=00ADEF&byline=0&portrait=0&autoplay=0&loop=0&autopause=0\" width=\"600\" height=\"550\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"encrypted-media;accelerometer;autoplay;clipboard-write;gyroscope;picture-in-picture fullscreen; picture-in-picture; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; web-share\" referrerpolicy=\"strict-origin-when-cross-origin\"><\/iframe><\/div>\n<p><strong>Morning Coffee<\/p>\n<p><\/strong><\/p>\n<p><em>crack, crack<br \/>\n<\/em>wakes me up<br \/>\nat five AM<br \/>\nfollowed by<br \/>\npolice cars<br \/>\njust outside my walls<\/p>\n<p>one man<br \/>\ngot himself shot<br \/>\nacross the street<br \/>\nfrom The Guest Home<br \/>\nwhere valium-soaked seniors<br \/>\nsit on white plastic chairs<br \/>\nstare at the street that could take them<br \/>\nto Sony Studios<br \/>\nor UCLA<br \/>\nif they just kept going<br \/>\nbut they never do<br \/>\nand quite often<br \/>\nI see a resident or two<br \/>\nlying face down on the lawn<\/p>\n<p>the victim<br \/>\nunidentified by the policeman<br \/>\nwho points his flashlight at me\u2014<br \/>\n<em>Ma\u2019am, you\u2019ll have to come to this side<br \/>\n<\/em><em>of the street.\u00a0 Some guy got shot down there\u2014<br \/>\n<\/em>dragged his dying self<br \/>\nthree hundred yards<br \/>\nto Oh Thank Heaven<br \/>\nwhere he collapsed and died<br \/>\nthe intersection is cordoned off<br \/>\n7-11\u2019s whole self is yellow taped<br \/>\ntwo employees stand outside and watch<br \/>\nexiled twice<\/p>\n<p><em>that intersection will be closed<br \/>\n<\/em><em>until eleven AM due to police activity<br \/>\n<\/em>says the traffic report<br \/>\nhelicopters shake our windows<br \/>\ntoo long after the incident<br \/>\nfor me not to lock the doors<\/p>\n<p>there is an LA ending to this story:<br \/>\na resident of The Guest Home<br \/>\ncrosses the usually busy intersection<br \/>\npasses police car after police car<br \/>\ncounting change from his pocket<br \/>\nas he walks<br \/>\nis not stopped<br \/>\nuntil he ducks under<br \/>\nthe yellow tape<br \/>\nsir, you can\u2019t go in there<\/p>\n<p>the man, hunched and gray<br \/>\nlooks up at the policeman<br \/>\nglances with longing<br \/>\nat the coffee machines<br \/>\nsequestered by those giant windows<br \/>\nturns around<br \/>\nand walks back home<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p><strong>The Lady with Scarves on the #6 Bus<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong><br \/>\n<\/strong>I see her every morning.<br \/>\nToday she wears bright yellow stockings<br \/>\nsits in front of me<br \/>\nfolds and unfolds stacks<br \/>\nof silky scarves.<\/p>\n<p>She rubs a plastic ball against her head.<br \/>\nSeven stops before her own<br \/>\nshe takes the brown net scarf<br \/>\noff her drab brown hair<br \/>\nand begins to brush and brush.<\/p>\n<p>Once on a bus in Jordan<br \/>\nan Indian woman sat near the front<br \/>\nbrushed her silky black hair<br \/>\noblivious to the angry stares behind her<br \/>\nthe disapproving clicks of tongues.<\/p>\n<p>I turn to see if anyone is watching<br \/>\nno one pays attention \u2013 this is Los Angeles \u2014<br \/>\nlong dark blond hairs drop into my lap<br \/>\nin small heaps.\u00a0 I click my tongue<br \/>\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 just once.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<div class=\"ose-vimeo ose-uid-c9a8bdcdf9e11d87720f1d5579fba4f2 ose-embedpress-responsive\" style=\"width:600px; height:550px; max-height:550px; max-width:100%; display:inline-block;\" data-embed-type=\"Vimeo\"><iframe loading=\"lazy\" allowFullScreen=\"true\" title=\"&quot;The Kindness of Art&quot; (for Ginette Mizraki) from Laila Halaby\" src=\"https:\/\/player.vimeo.com\/video\/677588844?dnt=0&amp;app_id=122963&title=0&color=00ADEF&byline=0&portrait=0&autoplay=0&loop=0&autopause=0\" width=\"600\" height=\"550\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"encrypted-media;accelerometer;autoplay;clipboard-write;gyroscope;picture-in-picture fullscreen; picture-in-picture; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; web-share\" referrerpolicy=\"strict-origin-when-cross-origin\"><\/iframe><\/div>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>The Kindness of Art<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><em>for Ginette Mizraki<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>glorious LA Saturday<br \/>\nin my dreary neighborhood<br \/>\nsends me to the other side<br \/>\nof my nearest cross streets<br \/>\nin pursuit of quarters<br \/>\nto fill the hungry<br \/>\nwashing machine<br \/>\nand dryer in my<br \/>\nbuilding<\/p>\n<p>the man at the Duck Pond Liquor Store<br \/>\nsmiles very nicely<br \/>\nrefuses to change<br \/>\neven one of my dollars<\/p>\n<p>the Coin Laundry change machine<br \/>\neats one dollar<br \/>\nspews out four quarters<br \/>\nbefore the lumpy woman<br \/>\nsweeping lint off the floor<br \/>\nchases me out<br \/>\n<em>because that machine<\/em><br \/>\n<em>is only for OUR customers<\/em><\/p>\n<p>I stomp out<br \/>\ngrowling<br \/>\nat the grumpy world<br \/>\nwith all its pettiness and self-serving meanness<br \/>\nwhen my eyes snag on paintings<br \/>\ndisplayed behind gleaming windows<br \/>\na few doors down<\/p>\n<p>I step off of the grit of Overland<br \/>\nonto shiny parquetted floors<br \/>\ngirded by the whitest dry wall<br \/>\nlit by soft soft track lighting<br \/>\nfall into another world<br \/>\nof European lines<br \/>\ncolors<br \/>\ntwists and faces<br \/>\nlike France<br \/>\nlike Chagall<\/p>\n<p>further into this magical gallery<br \/>\nbody parts are more vivid<br \/>\nimages less gentle<br \/>\ncolors deeper<br \/>\nrougher<br \/>\nredder<br \/>\nmore on the pulse of the actors<br \/>\nthan the observers<br \/>\nless France<br \/>\nmore America<\/p>\n<p>I glide<br \/>\nfrom tiny room<br \/>\nto tiny room<br \/>\nfilling up<br \/>\non images<br \/>\ncolors<br \/>\nmoods<br \/>\nmy method of feeding my addiction<br \/>\nnot to take it slowly<br \/>\nbut to slam the colors<br \/>\ninto my eyes<br \/>\nmy veins<br \/>\nmy soul<br \/>\nlet the high carry me<br \/>\nfor days<\/p>\n<p>the artist appears<br \/>\nshe is a petite woman<br \/>\nwho reminds me<br \/>\nof an Armenian friend<br \/>\nwe speak briefly\/warmly<br \/>\nabout her Turkish\/Rhodesian\/Sephardic\/Jewish\/English\/French background<br \/>\nwe skirt politics<br \/>\ndiplomatically<br \/>\nlike artists<br \/>\nnot diplomats<br \/>\nwish each other luck<\/p>\n<p>back outside<br \/>\npast a stooped man<br \/>\nclenching a forty<br \/>\npictures in my head<br \/>\nI re-cross one street<br \/>\nto the Indian-run 7-11<br \/>\nbuy a newspaper<br \/>\nbeg for change<br \/>\nin quarters<\/p>\n<p>I hand a five to the cheery clerk<br \/>\nwho always wears sunglasses<br \/>\nask for a dollar in quarters<br \/>\n<em>Is that all you want?<\/em><br \/>\nI ask for two dollars.<br \/>\n<em>Sure.\u00a0 You want more?<\/em><br \/>\nhe grins.\u00a0 this is a game!<br \/>\nI nod.<br \/>\n<em>How about I give it to you ALL in quarters?<\/em><br \/>\nhis laugh is smooth, happy<br \/>\nlike honey in tea on a cold morning<\/p>\n<p>I return home<br \/>\npockets heavy<br \/>\nsoul light<br \/>\nbut for the art of kindness<br \/>\nor that kind of art<br \/>\nI do not know<\/p>\n<div class=\"ose-vimeo ose-uid-72fb07aca862aa4ed597c07ed134e7c9 ose-embedpress-responsive\" style=\"width:600px; height:550px; max-height:550px; max-width:100%; display:inline-block;\" data-embed-type=\"Vimeo\"><iframe loading=\"lazy\" allowFullScreen=\"true\" title=\"&quot;Proud Daddy&quot; from Laila Halaby\" src=\"https:\/\/player.vimeo.com\/video\/677587793?dnt=0&amp;app_id=122963&title=0&color=00ADEF&byline=0&portrait=0&autoplay=0&loop=0&autopause=0\" width=\"600\" height=\"550\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"encrypted-media;accelerometer;autoplay;clipboard-write;gyroscope;picture-in-picture fullscreen; picture-in-picture; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; web-share\" referrerpolicy=\"strict-origin-when-cross-origin\"><\/iframe><\/div>\n<p><strong><br \/>\nProud Daddy<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>I don\u2019t notice if his child<br \/>\nis a boy or girl<br \/>\nor what magazine he has grabbed<br \/>\noff the shelf \u2013 something architectural, I think<\/p>\n<p><em>Here it is<\/em>, he says<br \/>\nto the occupant of the<br \/>\ntiny stroller.\u00a0 <em>Here\u2019s Daddy\u2019s name<\/em>,<br \/>\nhe points to tiny red letters on a black page<\/p>\n<p>I smile<br \/>\ntoo loudly<br \/>\nthe man looks up<br \/>\nlaughs<br \/>\nbut his moment is ruined<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>flash flood warning for Ventura and west Los Angeles counties<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>I cower under rain<br \/>\ncoming down like waves<br \/>\ntrying to break<br \/>\ninto my car<br \/>\nthe wipers at full speed<\/p>\n<p>a thin woman<br \/>\nin rubber boots<br \/>\na raincoat<br \/>\nand umbrella<br \/>\nstands on the corner<\/p>\n<p>clutching the hand<br \/>\nof a little girl<br \/>\nin yellow boots<br \/>\na yellow raincoat<br \/>\nand a yellow umbrella<\/p>\n<p>she tugs at her arm<br \/>\nwhen the signal<br \/>\nchanges for them<br \/>\nto cross the street<br \/>\nunder the heaviest rain in fourteen years<\/p>\n<p>they both are smiling<br \/>\nthe girl takes<br \/>\ntwo steps<br \/>\ninto the street<br \/>\nkicks up her left foot<\/p>\n<p>two more steps<br \/>\nkicks up her right foot<br \/>\nshe and the woman<br \/>\nsmile at each other<br \/>\nas they dance in front of my car<\/p>\n<p>where I sit smiling<br \/>\nin dry yellow peace<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p><strong>February<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>though it has just started to be February<br \/>\nthe days taste of summer: a certain kind of hot<br \/>\nsalty lips, nights filled with longing<br \/>\nshaken up by the neighbor\u2019s music<br \/>\nthat I don\u2019t mind, really,<br \/>\nbecause it brings back other summers<br \/>\nin other places<\/p>\n<p>at the bottom of the pile<br \/>\nmy first fifteen years<br \/>\nJune through August<br \/>\nin the big white house<br \/>\nthat stared down<br \/>\nthe Atlantic Ocean<\/p>\n<p>in the middle<br \/>\npeaches, watermelon, sour cheese, grapes<br \/>\nfill my mouth<br \/>\nartichokes with my mother<br \/>\nthen further up beer<br \/>\ndancing with friends<br \/>\nfurious talks with my father<br \/>\nall different years<br \/>\nnow one giant summer<br \/>\nremembered in February<\/p>\n<p>at the beach \u2014 the Pacific this time \u2014<br \/>\nI watch the sun paint my baby\u2019s dark face red<br \/>\nwear him out<br \/>\ncollapse him into a heap<br \/>\ndelighted with exhaustion<br \/>\nthe kind that comes only to children<br \/>\nonly in summertime<br \/>\nexcept in LA<br \/>\nwhere it comes on February 7<sup>th<\/sup>.<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p>\nApartment 10<\/p>\n<p><strong>Be A Hero, Save A Whale\/Save A Baby, Go To Jail<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>shattering glass<br \/>\nwakes me up<br \/>\nsends me to the window<br \/>\nyoung black man<br \/>\nbig dark coat<br \/>\nwalks out<br \/>\nof the garage<br \/>\ntoo late for the police<br \/>\nhe\u2019ll be gone<br \/>\nbefore I pick up the phone<br \/>\nI return to bed<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p><strong><br \/>\nThinking Women Vote Republican<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>next day<br \/>\nthe owner<br \/>\nof the green Metro<br \/>\ncovered in stickers<br \/>\nstops me<br \/>\n<em style=\"color: var(--global--color-primary); font-size: var(--global--font-size-base);\">my car<br \/>\n<\/em><em>was broken into<br \/>\n<\/em><em>your window <br \/>\n<\/em><em>is just over the garage<br \/>\n<\/em><em>did you hear anything?<br \/>\n<\/em>I act surprised<br \/>\ntell him no<br \/>\n<em>really?<\/em> he asks<br \/>\n<em>I sleep deeply<br \/>\n<\/em>I say<\/p>\n<p><strong>Don\u2019t Shoot!\u00a0 I Didn\u2019t Vote for Clinton<\/p>\n<p><\/strong>a week later<br \/>\nI am outside<br \/>\nwith the kids<br \/>\nhe drives out<br \/>\nof the garage<br \/>\nfrowns at two men<br \/>\nsitting on the curb<br \/>\nchatting<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Work Harder.\u00a0 Millions On Welfare Are Depending On You<\/p>\n<p><\/strong><\/p>\n<p>the neighbor<br \/>\ndrives off<br \/>\ncomes back<br \/>\nwalking<br \/>\njust after<br \/>\nthe two men have left<br \/>\n<em>were they okay?\u00a0 I wonder<br \/>\n<\/em><em>if they are casing the area<br \/>\n<\/em><em>ever since my window <br \/>\n<\/em><em>got smashed<br \/>\n<\/em><em>and my radio stolen<br \/>\n<\/em><em>I am suspicious<br \/>\n<\/em><em>when I see someone<br \/>\n<\/em><em>just hanging around<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Cat Meat: The Other White Meat<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>one lives next door<br \/>\nthe other works<br \/>\naround the corner<br \/>\nthey were speaking<br \/>\nin Spanish<br \/>\nabout a car for sale<br \/>\nI don\u2019t tell him this<br \/>\njust say <em>they were fine<br \/>\n<\/em><em>neighbors in fact<br \/>\n<\/em>he smiles sweetly<br \/>\nI\u2019ve heard<br \/>\nhe wants to be an actor<\/p>\n<p><strong>Clinton Doesn\u2019t Inhale; He Sucks<\/p>\n<p><\/strong><\/p>\n<p>when he leaves<br \/>\nwalks back<br \/>\ndown the street<br \/>\nto where he left<br \/>\nhis stickered little car<br \/>\nI giggle just a little<\/p>\n<p><strong>Smile! God Loves You<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p><strong>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong>bumper sticker lady<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Keep Abortion Legal<br \/>\n<\/strong>screams the side window<br \/>\nof a Honda Accord<br \/>\nwaiting next to me<\/p>\n<p>a few blocks later<br \/>\nthe same car<br \/>\nis behind me<br \/>\nred light<br \/>\nblind spot<br \/>\nwe both want<br \/>\nto turn right<\/p>\n<p><em>would you fucking go!<br \/>\n<\/em>shouts the woman<br \/>\nfrom her liberal Japanese car<\/p>\n<p><strong>Darwin <br \/>\n<\/strong><strong>Darwin <br \/>\n<\/strong><strong>Darwin<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><em>turn right<br \/>\n<\/em><em>turn right<br \/>\n<\/em><em>turn right<\/em><\/p>\n<p>I cannot see<br \/>\nif there are cars<br \/>\ncoming or not<br \/>\nshe leans out her window and yells<br \/>\n<em>you can turn now<\/em><\/p>\n<p>I sit back<br \/>\ndon\u2019t even pretend<br \/>\nto look<br \/>\nlight turns green<br \/>\nI let a pedestrian<br \/>\ncross<br \/>\nmove slowly<br \/>\nonce he\u2019s gone<br \/>\njust to piss her off<\/p>\n<p>she grabs<br \/>\nher chance<br \/>\nzooms<br \/>\npast<br \/>\nin a haze<br \/>\nof liberal epithets:<\/p>\n<p><strong>Pro Child\/Pro Choice<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong>Keep Life Free<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong>Practice Random Acts of Kindness<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>when we are side by side<br \/>\nat the next red light<br \/>\nI ask her if the previous display<br \/>\nwas a random act of kindness<\/p>\n<p><em>you can turn on a red light<br \/>\nyou know<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>I couldn\u2019t see<br \/>\n<\/em>I tell her sweetly<br \/>\n<em>surely you wouldn\u2019t want me<br \/>\n<\/em><em>just to go<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>oh, okay<br \/>\n<\/em>she smiles<br \/>\nwaves<br \/>\n<em>bye now<br \/>\n<\/em>drives off<br \/>\nat a leisurely pace<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Poet and novelist Laila Halaby writes her Los Angeles experience in a cascade of words that indelibly capture moments and memories.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":184,"featured_media":7200,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center 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