Shukr-Alhamdulillah

I learn about termite colonies old as the trees;
some of the oldest, meaning structural issues,
which, of course, we can fix. Smudge and sage
and bless and hamsa hands, so many prayers
for Gratitude, which I am full of as my late Auntcle Ifti,
gay hero of Chicago, said in an interview about Allah
“I love her. She always takes care of me.” Ifti talked
about a garden, about being out in any garden,
and that’s being with Allah. Isn’t that Jannah?
What they said has been blooming in me.
Large and bright as the peony heads I imagine
when Iris points out the sprig of one, tall and thin and
dark maroon-red growing between my neighbour’s pavers.
She says “If only I could take it for you, if only
I could steal it just a few inches over.” Then my father
came to my mother’s dream again. This time to give me a houseplant.
My mother hates houseplants. So she said “Take it back.
Can’t you return it?” Dad said “It’s from Jannah!”
Mom said “And get your daughter something more useful,
like cash?” Dad played into her need for a capitalist metaphor.
He said “I bought it with a credit card from Jannah,
and they don’t do returns.” She clicked her tongue. “Fine,
okay then.” He said “This is a very special plant,” turning
to me, he spoke directly from her dream into my mind:
“From the garden of all gardens, this plant is yours now.”
He said “I’m so proud of you, beta.” And I believed him.