to the desert
to his home,
and sometimes he is soft and warm
as a goat.
He gives his pills freely
to the clinic in Jerusalem,
“sad,” he says
then adds
“he’s Arab.”
Puzzling
my Abba
the wolf.
Father of Light
My Father, my Abba
Aish Hamachelet1
not Eloheem2
though sometimes
his rage makes me feel that,
mostly he is Aviv Shel Kol3
and Aviv Shel Or4
until he discovers
Jamil.
Tiger
My father is a tiger
sleek on the outside, contained
he pounces on illness
till it oozes out of you,
unless you die in his hands
then my father roars
laments, cries out
to Allah,
and my grandfather
snarls
“fool”
for becoming a doctor
in such futile times
for taking medical supplies
from the hands of Jews.
My Great Father
My Father, my Abi
Abi Alazeem5
Abi Hwa Batali6
Fel-youbarek Allah Abi7
but if he knew
how I dream the body
of an Israeli girl,
he’d fry me
in the desert,
still I say
Ana Ohibuka ya Abi.8
Imah
Why
doesn’t she stand up to him,
tell him to leave me alone,
she must have known
the stories of the heart
one time,
enough to know
you don’t always fall for
the guy next door,
though that is who Jamil is
(I have heard his papa say his name)
truly.
Ommi
Why
doesn’t Ommi stand up to him,
tell him I have grown beyond the trees,
that I have my own heart
and that is what I answer.
Didn’t she ever fall in love
or was that just a bitter pill
she had to swallow.
Zayde
I have named him fish
(though I cuddle in his arms like a cradle);
he wants payback
for the family
lost in the Holocaust.
He calls himself a Zionist,*
I call him fish
for the way he stays in deep waters
(where others would drown)
admonishing his only son
for giving out drugs
to Arabs,
smiling sadistically
drinking blood
for breakfast.
Imagine:
The Pharmacist’s Profession
Imagine pills
like poppies,
sunflowers,
roses,
so many colors
in Papa’s garden,
where people
plan a pilgrimage:
the Christians, the Arabs
always the Jews,
because their bones are broken
their bodies are battered
their heads are splitting open
like a bleeding melon,
and Abba’s pills—
fragrant flowers
offer a promise
if not for today
for tomorrow.
When His Abi Isn’t Looking
When he looks
into my eyes
sneaking glances
when we are at the clinic
and his Abi isn’t looking,
I am the girl
who laughs, who is free,
one who wears skirts
and not pants, like I always do;
his gaze
makes me want to undress
so he can lift up
and see
what’s beneath
the dress.
When Her Abba Isn’t Looking
I have already left
poems in her pocket,
and she
blows kisses
when her Abba
isn’t looking,
so I know
she thinks of me
as a man
who would lift her skirt
and love her,
not the foolish boy
my Abi
thinks I am.
Let’s Meet
I hand him
a slip of paper
when Abba isn’t looking.
My name is Ronit
here is my number.
Please call
so we can make plans
right away.
The Gift
I feel this piece of paper—
a gift
in my hand,
and pretend
it is her body
I am touching.
Call me.
I will.
Spices
“Abba,
let me get
your coffee,”
and he gives me shekels
tells me
not to be long.
I have already texted Jamil
to meet at the spice market:
the big one with tamarind, curry, paprika
every delicious taste
you can imagine.
“Salaam,” he greets me.
“Shalom.”
Spice Market
At first
we walk
side by side
our bodies barely touching;
I know a little Hebrew.
She knows some Arabic,
and as we continue walking
the narrow streets,
our bodies
are squeezed
together,
so we smile,
graze hands
and the smells of spices
hold me captive.
I close my eyes and imagine
the taste of tamarind
in her mouth.
Hands
Abi’s hands
soft as dates
when he touches
the wounds of a child
swept from the streets,
but I remind him
“some of our people
wear bombs
on their bodies.”
“Because there is no electricity
no running water
no health care,” he shouts,
then adds
“our people wear bombs
because of this.”
After
he wraps his arms, a blanket
around the burnt legs
of a baby.
He Touched My Hand
Smiling morning replaces frowning night
darkness stumbles out like a drunken man
Jamil’s big bones startle my sight
if Abba only knew he touched my hand.
Darkness stumbles out like a drunken man
discover light inside his hazel eyes
if Abba only knew he touched my hand
my body rustles and it cries.
Discover light inside his hazel eyes
a cease-fire already taking place
my body rustles and it cries
dreams begin to run a race.
A cease-fire already taking place
between two bodies all ablaze
dreams begin to run a race
in our world’s distorted maze.
Lightning Strikes
The first thing that I notice are her eyes
as blue as day or sorrow they have rage
she teases me to en
ter, my demise
if Abi only knew my heart is caged.
As blue as day or sorrow they have rage
from years of being told to stay away
if Abi only knew my heart is caged
a cacophony of hands that beg to stay.
From years of being told to stay away
the monster fence with signs “Do not trespass”
a cacophony of hands that beg to stay
how could I dare to dream that this would last.
The monster fence with signs “Do not trespass”
she teases me to enter, my demise
how could I dare to dream that this would last
the first thing that I notice are her eyes.
What I Love
Bones
singing over them,
dancing
when they are on the forest floor.
Imah
the light of her eyes
the lightning of her voice
she has taught me
to be strong
but in Abba’s presence
she is quiet,
but he is a wolf.
I love the wolf
the way he cares for his family
his hands as large as leaves
and their shadows.
I love the drum, the whistle, the cry
archaeology
Where is his fossil from?
Jamil
I love Jamil,
I gave to him
with my heart
before he requested it
and would gladly give again.
I would kill him with such cherishing.
His bones
beautiful
like a bird’s
ready to fly.
What I Love II
I also love
music
dance
forgetting
I have a body
thinking what I want to do with this body,
sometimes fresh
not like the good girl
my mother’s made me out to be.
What I Love
Words
whispering over them
writing
filling up the page.
Ommi.
She worries I am weak
like a broken well
that there is too little water.
I love Abi
his hands like dates
sweetening our family.
And the souq9
where the kmaaj10
is soft
as her body must be.
Oh,
to take her to El Bireh
where there is a Turkish bath
NO GIRLS ALLOWED,
but I can dream
her body bathed in mine.
What I Love II
Disco
drums
dancing on the beach,
gyrating to thoughts
of Ronit
on me
in me.
What I Hate
Senseless school
like history
when they distort
that Arabs
have no right
to the land.
I hate idle chatter
my sisters rumble with it:
hair and makeup.
I like natural
hair like a forest of greenery.
I hate
when Imah asks me
where I’m going
like she senses
my subterfuge.
Lately she has been checking
my phone,
but I erase
my messages.
Does she want me to tell her
East Jerusalem
where the heat
is a murderer,
but I will go there anyway
heat
of his body
of my body.
I hate the parting
the sorrow of it
the fear
tomorrow will never come,
and I will not see him
again.
What I Hate II
That I have to pretend
that I don’t know him,
how lame is that?
That I have to ignore
that I want him
now
right now
not tomorrow.
What I Hate
Senseless school
like history
that Jews
are the enemy
who robbed our land.
I hate the ruins
they call my land.
But what about
our rights to water?
I hate the way my twin
is Ommi’s friend
the secrets shared
in hushed whispers.
Ronit’s alphabet
its letters
are indecipherable
though she says
mine are, too.
And when Ommi says
“where are you going?”
the mask of her burka
a shroud for her face,
I want to tell her
the desert
where I can cross the bridge of her body
and feel Ronit’s heat,
so much heat
dripping with it.
What I Hate II
That I can’t say
let’s do it now,
anywhere
who cares where,
that I smile
when I want to tell
my family
where to go,
so I
don’t have to hide.
Ronit Goes to the Market
Imah
is curious
why I suddenly want
to do errands
but she is so tired
from the girls
she gives me a list,
and I go
to the Rami Levy market
where Arabs and Jews
sometimes mingle
and there are
natural foods
a bakery
a restaurant
Jamil.
Jamil Goes to the Market
A text:
meet me
at Gush Etzion Junction.
And immediately
I ask my mother
for a list.
“He acts like a girl,”
Abi says.
He should only know
I have a girl
who I will meet
at Rami Levy market,
we will hold hands
and kiss
with our mouths wide open.
I say nothing
take the list
and run.
Shell-Struck
They may have named me
“Argonauta”
Imah says
since I swam away
so fast
as if
every dwelling was temporary.
They say I have a land
but I do not feel
at home.
My shell
is feather-light
but sturdy, strong
compelled
by an unknown sea.
Jordan
They may have named me
“Jordan”
a pet name
since I am a river
my feelings are liquid
even before Ronit
I was the boy without armor,
because I love to read and write,
but I also listen to Coldplay,
so why say
I melt?
Are my prayers
too petrified for you?
Sweet Statue
I’ll name you
sweet statue
with bronzed skin.
I’ll ask the sun
to step aside
since the glare
&nb
sp; is blinding.
At night
the full moon
reappears,
still
no one notices
“I am whiter than new snow
upon a raven’s back,”*
no one sees
the full moon
and its treacherous treason.
No More
No more
tender-boned
Jamil. No more.
So tired
of being the sweet boy
like a shepherd who
herds his sheep.
Soon I will be
a ram
who watches as
“the orchard hangs out its lanterns.
The dead come stumbling by
in shrouds.
Nothing can stay bound
or be imprisoned.”*
Not me.
Hunger
I am hungry for bourekas
stuffed with cheese
oozing on the plate,
maybe labane—
spicy or dripping
or jachnun
drunk with mint tea.
Imah grinds the nuts
for baklava
just like his Ommi;
then why
must I eat
alone?
Hunger
I am hungry for
knafeh nabulsi
the queen of Arabic sweets,
or date-filled semolina cookies
the magrood
of pistachio baklava cake,
and hummus;
my Ommi grinds the chickpeas
with the heart of her knuckles,
same as Ronit’s Imah;
I am hungry for Ronit
and thirsty, too.
The Enemy: Ronit Speaks
My Abba has named you the enemy:
the one who births bombs
and throws them out the window;
the one who would smile like a knife
just to see blood,
blood lips and rivers of red
for Israelis to swim in;
look at his eyes, they would say
they are black slits
(but he has light eyes)
and when I look
all I see is an invitation
to gaze at the moon
in your night.
The Enemy: Jamil Speaks
My Abi has named you
the enemy:
such a ruthless thief
to steal land
Ronit & Jamil Page 2
