Inclined to Spead

I'm a slow writer. Poems enter at will; the chapters of the memoir and the novel flow slow blood through my arms. So I often delay the satisfaction of publication until the faraway completion of these manuscripts.. Writing without publishing is a fast, a little bit of a deprivation of essential writing vitamins. Writing energy suffers, the electro-lytes clog the writing muscles and I am in need of writing potassium.

Putting myself in starvation mode drives me to overdrive on the performance front. Get the band together, rush to the venue...here's the poem about the dead guy in front of the cafe...again. It's spicy, but redundant. Sustains me all the way to the next day.

I wonder after, with my hollow writer's stomach, if I will ever eat again. Head on hands, staring at the Egypt chapter of the memoir, the words make me hungy. My own bookshelves are displays of the finest cuisine. New books by geniuses and friends, tantalizing to the palate. My insides growl.

Enter the anthology editor. The appetizer tray comes around in solitication of my work by these great writers themselves assembling a collection that yes, sometimes changes the world. In the past year and a half, Kathy Engel and Kamal Boulatta fused the important anthology We Begin Here: Poems for Palestine and Lebanon http://www.amazon.com/We-Begin-Here-Palestine-Lebanon

Hayan Charara collected the most important Arab-American poets in Inclined To Speak: An Anthology of Contemporary Arab-American Poetry: http://www.amazon.com/Inclined-Speak-Anthology-Contemporary-American

and Tina Chang, Nathalie Handal and Ravi Shankar in hunter and gatherer mode captured Language for a New Century: Contemporary Poetry from the Middle East, Asia, and Beyond http://www.amazon.com/Language-New-Century-Contemporary-Poetry

I chew slowly and make each publishing moment last by doing promotion readings, cafe-ing with the other writers, stare at my own name in the table of contents. Small meals but deliciously prepared by the finest writers/chefs/editors I know. More are coming, some surprising meals: a piece in Good Housekeeping for instance, a summer treat.

I have been sustained, thanks to these brilliant editors and now two manuscripts are complete--They have been whipped until creamy, heated to an even boil, seared quickly on both sides. Sincere preparations, considered and nuanced, an infusion of Arabic and orange blossom water. They have been delicately placed on my finest platter, sprigs along the side and served in the mail.

I cannot wander the house in a cool pre-meal surrender. With the smell in the air, the anticipation is too much to bear. I am seated, napkin on my lap, nice cool glass of ice tea, eye on the mailbox, ready to chow down