I know that once you escape the clutches
of your overbearing Arab parents,
it will be something of a rabid dog
unchained
running from the mercy of his master.

You’ll experience a bold new world
they tried to conceal from you,
(in both ends of the extremes)
But perhaps after late night meals of
canned vegetables and ramen, you’ll
develop the lingering taste
in your mouth
for Mama’s Kenafeh.

You say you’ll never miss them,
but somehow I know
that one day,
be it just when you step into your dorm
or when you’re thirty-five and
pondering how to raise your own children--
you’ll have the vague intuition,
that perhaps your parents only wanted for you
what they never could have had,
before you dismiss the idea as nonsense.