Iran my love
As I close my eyes and ride with my family’s
caravan, I hear camels run and feel the sand on
my face. The sun beams down, washing over my
skin like precious memories of the touch of silk.
We are merchants—we curate antiquities and
travel the world. We are in the south of Iran at the
end of the 19th century, in the region of Yazd.
Our most precious good is “termeh,” the finest fabric made of silk threads.
We have had a long journey. It was a cold winter
but now I feel the warmth of my grandmother’s termeh on my skin.
I open my eyes and see the land of my ancestors,
the land of beauty, hospitality, and art.
I am home.