תִּקּוּן בֵּית פִילִיפִּינִים

My sister, Mercy and her husband, Joshua own a beauty salon called B&M, whose acronym is the antithesis of another ineffable ritual:

At each sunrise, purple, black and white bath towels are strewn all over the dining room table with a mahogany pavilion carved at the heart, manufactured in China, Pakistan and India, respectively. While Bahay Yoseph sleeps in during muted Saturday morning cartoons, Lola Keturah folds laundry into banners, the shape of Lolo Terah's stroke-imbued mouth, balancing mantle after mantle upon Asian Carp. He supervises from an orange-cushioned seat, beside the stairway. K'ruvim glisten below their razor gaze, and as we get a head start On the Silk Road to everywhere, but Yerushalayim, your dreams are bestirred by the aroma of Olive Oil tombs, opining.

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