mon père
mon père is a human being
he is molded from dazzling stories of betrayal
his father’s fatal decisions and the red clay of his city
he drinks instant coffee and has been an orphan for sixty years
doesn’t like crowds and is never keen to fly
papa is afraid of death but talks about it as though it were condensed milk
sleeps with cotton wool in his ears
likes to walk around in his underwear
my father calls me sister dear
says that the Dutch are the real Muslims
has two locks on his bicycle
he was forced to change his name to Guus
papa never talks about his childhood
he hasn’t been back to his homeland for a decade
curses the holy institution of
says كان ابوك صالحاً
my father horses around with his grandsons
he’d rather forget who his father was
and never forgets the declaration of independence of his country
my father lost half a hand in a textile machine
likes to talk in whispers
claps like only the Marrakeshis do
sings with perfect pitch
apps me obscene Moroccan jokes
papa rarely cries
cannot say no to my brothers
never shows his teeth and has had an artificial smile for thirty years
you have to call my dad in advance to arrange to meet up
he is never late
has been divorced for twenty-five years
papa became a man when he arrived in my home country
prays on time when it suits him
my father had a white and a black mother
is a social democrat of the old school
says that every sheep is hung by its own legs
doesn’t vote anymore
longs for nothing
was once married to ma mère
mon père
ma mère
ma mère comes from a long line of femmes fortes
like her mother and grandmother
they carry the world on their hips and their progeny as a headdress
mama is made of cactus leaves
and a queen bee’s body
she was molded by French nuns
my mother cannot forget let alone forgive
can build houses from air and honey
says her psychiatrist is mad
my mother’s voice cuts through time
ma mère is a natural antidote to taboo
mama est une boîte de vitesse vivante
she sleeps everywhere except in her own bed and eats while walking
gave her first child to her mother
wears gold name-brand sunglasses
my mother does not like coffee
she screams in Tashelhit because she is alive she says
mama has machine guns behind her teeth
and an atomic bomb hung behind her tongue
she carefully sets her sights on organs
but shoots at your eyes
curses mercilessly و لي ليها ليها
mama is a cloudburst in Brabant
says God is in her heart and not in her hair
she bites her offspring in the neck
carries them thousands of miles to her homeland
demands what she thinks is rightfully hers
complains wickedly when she is in pain and also when she is not in pain
says she wasted her life on her children
finds men everywhere and finds men worthless
can give away all she owns when gripped by an illusion
my mother checkmated my father
hates politics and no longer votes
mama is a foreign legion
comes from a family of ten
is a daughter of the Atlantic
doesn’t know where she wants to be buried
my mother is fire and gives birth to ashes
ma mère
Black and White
1
there’s a black and white photo of two young people on my living room wall
it’s the early 1970s
they are sitting close to each other at a round café table
under a palm tree and the sun
her nails are red she’s wearing a tight t-shirt and block heels
he has long wavy hair and a pattes d’éléphant men’s suit
they speak different languages but will learn each other’s
their hands clasp the narrow bottle neck of love and lemonade
they will go out travel get to know each other’s families
they will get playfully engaged and spend the next few years
circling each other
the sparkling young woman and the young man will become parents
they will lovingly make children a few years after this picture
I will be their first child born alive on the other side
of the Mediterranean Sea
2
they will start a family
not forgetting where they came from
they will become translators
spring roll rollers cleaners textile workers cooks
feed their children with simple nutritious dreams
they will spend a decade pushing numerous prams
he will fill thousands of 180-ml bottles and run next to bicycles without training wheels
they will buy colored sets of clothes with matching shoes
and hair elastics
they will hold parties with friends smoking drinking and giving alms
they will build houses and fill them with children and pets
they will take trips to other European cities
and sing in the car
they will picnic in the park every weekend and spend Saturdays
standing on the sidelines of football matches and rooms filled with tutus
he will make large pans of lentils
with cumin and dried meat
she will fry fish on Saturdays and wok vegetables with ginger
he will buy big cars for her and fill them with his offspring
she will drive herself back to her beloved palm tree and sun
cross the European continent alone and fearless
she will attempt to build a new life across the sea
he will try to go on living without her and his children
until exhausted they decide to become deaf to each other
3
they will delve into unprecedented depths for each other
they will spend years trying to breathe under the same roof
they will fail screaming and sleep in other beds
they will curse each other’s language and god again and again
they will roam the night knife in hand and straitjacketed
he will systematically eradicate
the wisteria she tended for years
she will fill the house with rubbish because he loved emptiness
they will talk to psychiatrists
unravel their confused faces
burn down each other’s dreams and dance weeping around the flames
facing each other at a table in an office they will dissolve
they will forget their four children and mutter incoherently
wearing tight jeans she will cut him out of all pictures
he will forget his name
4
they will become grandparents to six stubborn angels
they will start to lose their teeth and their hair will turn white
during the feast of sacrifice they will both
visit their children
they will hang the key to each other’s house on their keychains
he will run errands for her when she is sick
she will continue to curse him
he will wonder why he ever stayed with her
they will no longer dare to live with a partner
I will regard these two people with amazement
“mon père,” “mon mère,” and “كحل أوبيض” © Nisrine Mbarki. By arrangement with the author. Translations © 2023 by Michele Hutchison. With the support of the Dutch Foundation for Literature. All rights reserved.
