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Persian Princess Insania H LEYLA MOMENY There are times when you want to be a profusion of myths . . . —LALEH KHALILI, “IN EXILE” I am america-girl: britannica irania persian princess insania lavash skin, aquiline nose, my heart emerged as a golden oud, well-mannered and traveled, have reached the skirts of esfahan even arrived alongside my mother where birthright yellow fish swim in between my toes, I was named after bakhlava. born in iran three years shy of the mighty hijab my grandmother stole lust-filled glances inside the emperor’s gates. two decades of shy smiling have gotten me far— my feet planted firmly in waters of ambiguity tell me you love me without pomegranate-stained stones. the men in my family never learned how to cry 40 LEYLA MOMENY they built cities over their own dreams engineers of a keener reason rolex-wristed namesakes holding my hand, nihilist-hedonist patriarchs taught me to fly! my chastity, preserved. twenty-two years fermenting, slow and depart alongside this nile. a secret spot under my spine is targeted for assassinations, shivering, deranged, hairs cocked, caught in a world of ancient goddesses, I am limestone. unveiled, arms wide, a raven-haired pit infected by trees. I clung to tehrangeles felt comfortable in leather, even understood the chinese, spanish, mexican faces cemented on the silk roads. and when the surrealists in my country rejected the dead, I watched their sons masturbate with identity and isolation— curious and detached, I summoned a bloated airplane to carry away their mothers . . . and I, misplaced among arabs, latinas, I-am-half italians, no longer believe in us. PERSIAN PRINCESS INSANIA 41 ...

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