Neighborhood

It's hard to fall off the map.

Especially for a girl who loves maps.

Traces them, embroiders them, doesn't scoff at others who claim to love maps. Saves them, mounts them, frames them. But then, everyone frames maps. 

I can't help but want to be part of things.

And I can't get over this obsession with wanting to befriend bedouins. They are my neighbors and I think we could be friends. At night I hear their footsteps as they rummage through the trash bins for thrown-away things of value. There are so many broken tiles in the trash and on the side of the road. We could make mosaics together and mount them on the walls of their little huts.

Today I found a toilet on the side of the road. It led to an opening in the tiny hill so you can peek through at the rolling hills and houses across the valley. A fertile place to make fertile friendships. But I fear my bedouin befriending days are over. We don't speak the same language and I'm not as approachable as usual when I am veiled. But I like to think I have a warm glow that says "I'm smiling at you from under here."

Global warming feels like a big hug from the universe and the infamous Jordan winter has yet to set in. The lines on the map are begging to be embroidered into the patterned cloth that I bought from the flea market but instead I spend my time drawing number bond worksheets and baking pumpkin cakes. A fertile place for a simple plan.