Maman Safi Dar eshkh oorah deedam I see her in love I cry with some resistance because I remember

Her spirit-strong and resilient Today, from her garden I write.

Seeing those lifeless eyes Somehow still filled with a bit of HOPE, fighting to come through It takes me back to the GARDEN Where her seeds of hope Sprouted blessings of love With which to nourish our bodies That those same lifeless hands toiled In wed dirtagents of implantation, of germination

Grandma taught me all These truths With her radical motherhood she liberated the m(other) From herself Man ke khosh be haalam Lucky for me, I witnessed this and internalized it deeply

Deep in the garden Where the smell of fresh tomatoes filled the early fall air You could taste it immediately without ever bringing it near your mouth Maman Safi would call back Sara! Kojaayee, mommy? Where are you? Bia, azizam, na-naa bekaareem. We planted mint alongside Our Assyrian, Costa Rican, Nigerian, Salvadorian, Korean, and Egyptian neighbors Planting our rich produce, diverse and plentiful By and by Seeds of the glob were sowed and the diasporas blended together in seed In the earth And we used them, diffused them To concoct new curries, new stews The mint plants she grew just in front of our apartment in a tiny herb garden It would leave its earth scent On my fingers, Staining them something tannic The spinach, cilantro, and grape Came through in her Garden-scratch ku-ku, Specialty gourmet sabzi and dolmeh Rhubarb and quince in early spring through fall Became soups and jams that warmed the heart

She gave me these memories-taught me how to live-how to remember But what I always come back to is that flavor:

How I love to taste That earthly sweet tomato That evokes lusts lost

Somehow it evokes her and The mythical goddesses of our heavens Bringing floods to wash out the bad Violating patriarchal orders of germination and birth with their maternal desire Ahahita Chilcitique And my grandmother goddess Filtering motherhood in their own radical ways Like canyons that abort some baby plants Exclusivity Is the law of the garden As that of the womb Rejecting the seeds it doesnt consume, one out of millions will make it And only one Grandma is proven right This must be a damn special place The domain of the radical feminine in the Public space of community cooptive gardens

And she a mother Of three radical children A story of trife and triumph The remember her as mom and dad Sometimes the only Pleasant family memories were from the Karaj garden summer house, Where special occasions were often celebrated

And flowers How Maman Safi loved them Daisies, snap dragons, and citrus blossoms, but her favority by far were boogamvilias She liked to plant them along the fence With dark purple morning glories Niloofar cascading over the side violently stunning Like herself So independent and modern For her time Her refreshing outlook had the power to set us all free As the scent of fresh tuberose circulated through her house, Parakeets chirping frantically, she calmly spoke her two cents,

Sara joon meedooni chie? you know what?Khoob karee kardee haameleh shoodee good for you for getting pregnant! Now I can see my great grandson before I die. I am so happy! What do you need a man for? I raised my three children on my own-my husband was always intoxicated and absent

Ive never been in love with a man-only with my children, and grand and great grand-children.

King Diako she loved most of all Years after she left our house and moved into her own

The old apricot tree grew sick and Dad had to cut it down As I stared at the stump I thought of the family drama Over the fresh apricot fruit leather

The tree had so much yield that year, that we couldnt consume the fruit fast enough Maman safi laid the fruit paste out to sun-dry

All over the patio furniture and dad got agitated so she slowly moved it into the garage to line the tops of the washer and dryer

Now dad says we will build diako a tree house in the massive oak that lives in the corner behind the stump.

But I miss the apricot tree like I miss my her She died on dec 2nd, 2012 at 10:45 pm Remaining just as graceful as ever on her way out Requesting mick jagger from the hospice service Her departure was smooth and graceful A lesson to us all On how to live wall and how to die well Recollections of her stories of travel

To spain and Singapore Turkey and Hawaii Canada and france Mexico and Tibet

These stories will be in me forever As I walk through the garden I hear her wise words

if youre ever sad, just put on a little lipstick.

Close your eyes Maman Safi Go back into the garden I will meet you there

With my lipstick in hand