This is my Mum Isn’t she beautiful?
This is my brother and this, my father
If only he knew how door to door I am now
Poor innocent thing
This one is Sara the youngest  
this smiley face also…can’t remember the
name!

Exile, exile what havoc it wreaks on the memory
She’s my eldest sister
She used to pass out laughing
when shooting pictures

I’m at a loss how these pictures of lips that have smiled
are movies of eyes that have cried
Leave it!
But how mixed up I am
Poor dear my peasant Mum
If freedom ever pays Iran a visit
You’ll become my father’s new bride
and after breakfast my sister
will burn frankincense
to smudge around my head and dispel the bad eye
on my having a Leila in the night most
and my Mum while boasting
will be throwing confetti and ululating in the paddy at the bottom of the garden
so her son may eye up the lap of this lass    and be
   turned on - I’m turned on
Now that we’re enthralled shoulder to shoulder in the hall of this house
why not make believe we’re wrapped in the bliss of rice paddies?
 Let go