Nowruz

Nowruz¹ The mirror breathes beneath my palm— twelve days I've polished chrome. Sabzeh² sprouts in jam-jar earth, each blade a promise worth the waiting. Mother counts rice grains while saffron stains her fingertips. The goldfish circles, bored by glass, as hours pass like water drops. What grows in us that won't be named? This hunger, neither blessed nor shamed— I watch my hand shake as I set the apple next to violets. We table-set for mice that carry crumbs to rooms where grandfather's coat still blooms with tobacco smoke. The flames lean close. We lean away. At midnight, when the year turns sharp, I taste the vinegar's bright slap against my tongue—how sour becomes the sweetness that never comes. Mother touches my shoulder once. The hyacinth releases its breath into the space between her worn hands and my clean ones. Outside, Tehran³ dims its lights— a city swallowing its prayers whole. --- Footnotes: ¹ Nowruz - Persian New Year, marking the spring equinox. Celebrated for over 3,000 years across Iran, Central Asia, and the Middle East. The word means "new day." ² Sabzeh - Sprouted wheat, lentil, or barley grass grown in a dish as part of the Haft-Sin table display for Nowruz. The green shoots symbolize rebirth and renewal. ³ Tehran - Capital city of Iran, home to over 8 million people. The poem captures the quiet moment of celebration in this bustling metropolis.