Book Read Free

Ronit & Jamil

Page 3

by Pamela L. Laskin


  when no one is looking

  change locks,

  change the keys

  (and I have the key

  to prove my father right),

  but when he tells me

  your eyes hold lies,

  I know he doesn’t understand

  those blue flecks are rockets

  asking me to fly away.

  Street Walk: Ronit

  Yes,

  I am coming to work

  with Abba today

  did you get my text?

  Abba

  almost grabbed the phone from me

  and growled

  like a lion

  when I pulled it back.

  “Next time,” he snarled.

  We will stroll

  through East Jerusalem

  through narrow streets

  and small markets.

  We will feed each other

  nuts, fruits

  oranges

  from which

  we will suck the juices dry.

  Coffee

  Tell your Abi

  he needs coffee

  with cardamom

  hot and steamy

  (the way I like

  your kisses).

  My Sister Told Ommi

  Did not get

  your first text,

  since my sister

  ratted me out.

  I tremble

  thinking

  she told Abi, too.

  His temper

  is brutal.

  He’d never

  let me come

  to work with him

  again.

  Ommi

  grabbed my phone

  and kept it

  for two days,

  but I had already

  deleted the messages.

  “I might need to talk to Abi,” she shrieked.

  “About what?” I challenged her

  and finally

  she shoved the phone

  in my face.

  Can you imagine

  if she saw the message

  where I said I wanted to eat

  the fruits from your garden?

  Coffee.

  Yes coffee.

  Piping hot.

  From Her Sweet Body

  I can’t cross her fence

  but she can cross mine

  with her Abba

  into my Papa’s office

  where he treats the poor, the sick, the hungry

  Palestinian children

  whose Abis can’t work;

  while mine

  takes pills from hers

  and I take vials of sweat

  from her sweet body.

  From His Sweet Hands

  This barrier—

  a thinly disguised veil

  I rip through

  with my eyes,

  especially when Abba

  brings his medicines

  voilá—

  healing happens,

  but I am still wounded

  waiting

  for Jamil’s hands

  to help.

  Ronit Texts

  This fence

  you cannot cross

  you cannot see through.

  It is 25 feet of concrete

  will soon be 435 miles long

  around Qalqilya:

  the West Bank barrier.

  There is no separation barrier

  between you

  and me.

  Jamil Texts

  This wall

  is so high;

  25 feet of concrete

  435 miles long.

  I can only imagine you

  on the other side

  your arms

  swinging freely

  in the summer wind.

  Jamil and Ronit

  on an Afternoon Walk

  Walking the narrow alleyways

  of Zion,

  eating murtabak—

  Yemeni mutton-filled pancakes,

  hearing the chant to prayer—

  the Jews, the Arabs,

  smelling the flesh sizzling

  beneath the heated afternoon sun

  and tasting it;

  we are together

  and we look like siblings.

  No one knows

  how burnt I am around her.

  Shihab*

  So be it

  I am the shihab,

  still, there is a sky out there—

  Ronit

  and what a fool

  not to plant

  in this garden of goodness,

  discard

  the seeds of hate

  you have all tried

  to plant in me:

  my people and her people, too.

  Other Gardens:

  Ronit Speaks

  “It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden

  too like the lightning”*

  to call this love

  the summer’s ripening breath;

  right now

  we are flower buds in summer air,

  but next time

  we’ll deflower.

  Ronit and Jamil

  Here we can hold hands,

  walking through the narrow street,

  no cars allowed.

  Only

  Ronit and Jamil,

  today Ronit is an Arab

  with her head covered.

  Tomorrow

  Jamil pretends to be Israeli,

  and there is no separation barrier

  between us.

  Sun

  Ronit is the fair sun in the east,

  the one who kills

  the envious moon;

  I can answer her eyes,

  but Chaim is looking

  and though she may be bold and brazen

  her eyes still twinkle

  tempt me

  to touch them.

  Moon

  Mohammed looks, too

  even though I touch my eyes

  to the ground,

  he does not understand

  the wardrobe of feelings.

  I ask Jamil

  “O, swear not by the moon, th’ inconstant moon”*

  because the moon wears a mask

  while I undress my face daily.

  Ronit’s Kiss

  “Then have my lips

  the sin

  that they have took.”*

  I will take yours

  as mine,

  and swear by you,

  not the ambiguous moon,

  or the dead night.

  I will swear by you

  because you hear me cry

  and understand

  the ruins of language

  that stand in the way

  like a contamination.

  But then we kiss

  forget night

  and bombs,

  forget this whole

  confusing journey.

  Light

  Her eyes

  are mine,

  they light the oil

  of lamps,

  they are fueled

  by fear

  and longing;

  they suffer

  silently

  watching the forbidden fence

  between our people

  and our bodies.

  Keys: Ronit Speaks

  I’ve heard about keys

  ancient, cryptic

  ones that have traveled

  across oceans

  guarded like gold.

  No one

  will enter

  this house.

  My heart

  already

  swings open.

  Keys: Jamil Speaks

  I’ve heard about keys

  my grandfather keeps

  hidden carefully

  in the womb of a vault,

  it once opened the door

  to a house

  on land

  you love

  but do
n’t own.

  ACT II

  Complications

  Ronit:

  A Walk in the Woods

  I know a place

  where there are trees

  and the people

  at this checkpoint

  are lazy,

  so we can walk the woods

  and finger flesh,

  not just

  kiss.

  Jamil:

  A Walk in the Woods

  I love this place

  where we can hide,

  but what if

  Abi comes looking for me,

  and I am caught in the embrace

  of your beautiful branches?

  Another Glance

  I hold my palm to his

  like a kiss,

  my lips have the sin

  that they took;

  but his name

  is enemy

  though Abba calls him Jamil.

  I know

  what’s in the shadows

  of the words

  he doesn’t say.

  I pray

  for another name

  aside from Arab.

  Abba says

  I can go on a bus

  and someone wearing a bomb

  could blow me up.

  Jamil’s family would never;

  would they?

  Homeless

  I live here

  this is my home,

  don’t call me

  permanent resident

  allow my father his doctor’s rights

  give him some benefits

  not others.

  Hundreds of olive trees

  chopped down

  burnt

  uprooted

  homeless.

  How could Israelis

  chop down trees

  to build settlements?

  Ronit’s family would never;

  could they?

  Olive Garden:

  Ronit Speaks

  You say you are water.

  “My bounty is as

  boundless as the sea,

  my love as deep.”*

  But the land

  is passed down

  from my Zayde.

  We can share it,

  but don’t ever say

  I plucked the olive

  from your tree.

  Another Garden

  Where is my garden

  where is my secret Sinai?

  my beloved olive trees

  entire groves erased

  uprooted by the contractors

  who built the fence,

  taking land away

  from our farmers,

  my landscape

  obliterated

  by the other side—

  Ronit’s.

  Ronit’s Text

  You say land

  was taken

  from your farmers

  to build the fence,

  and olive trees

  were uprooted.

  This makes me sad.

  This makes me scared.

  Jamil’s Text

  I didn’t want to make you

  scared,

  sad,

  it’s just when we talk about

  whose land it is

  as the rockets fly from Gaza,

  and one lands

  near your home;

  I want you to understand

  there are no answers

  except for us.

  No Work Today

  Last night

  a bomb

  went off

  on a bus

  in Tel Aviv,

  the night before

  a rocket

  came near our settlement,

  so Abba says

  I must stay home

  I must stay safe

  but my only safety

  is with you.

  Jamil

  I got your text

  and I hear Abi grumbling

  so I knew

  it was bad.

  “They will retaliate,”

  he shouts

  and I knew

  he was talking about Israelis,

  I knew

  he just doesn’t get it:

  our only danger, Ronit,

  is when we are apart.

  It’s Complicated

  This fence

  I know it’s wrong,

  but so are bombs

  people strap to themselves

  blowing up our land, our people,

  and the rockets

  from Gaza

  and the harsh words

  in the winds of the world

  that Israel is not a place

  or a people.

  It’s Complicated

  I am not a terrorist

  not my Abi either,

  I pray to Allah

  to ban the evil spirits

  waiting at the door.

  Yet everywhere I turn

  a checkpoint

  so I can’t leave

  nor can I stay.

  The Mount

  My Imah tells me

  King Solomon

  built the first temple here

  in 957 BCE.

  It is the holiest site

  for prayer,

  ensures us there is God.

  Sure

  the Dome of the Rock

  and large mosque

  were built, too

  in 668,

  was completed

  in 691,

  but when Israelis won

  the Six Day War in 1967

  it was ours again

  forever.

  Dome of the Rock

  My Ommi tells me

  Umayyad Caliph Abd al-Malik

  built the Dome of the Rock,

  our people believe

  in its holiness—

  the Islamic miracle

  of Isra and Mi’räjj;

  his son built the huge mosque

  at the end of the Haram;

  now

  we enter our Mount

  in one of ten gates

  from the old city.

  We pray

  to reclaim

  our place

  in the world.

  You Don’t Understand

  I began

  in black stones

  and subterranean waters.

  Allah spoke to me and said,

  “claim this soil

  its heart

  beats in your breast!”

  I know the Quran

  is just a book,

  but it is here

  the Prophet Mohammed

  made his journey

  to the throne of God.

  You Don’t Understand

  I’m Israeli

  I swear by my land;

  it is my badge.

  I wear it proudly.

  It was the land of my ancestors

  and in 1948

  my Zayde claimed it

  as his own.

  The Temple Mount

  is also mine

  it is where Abraham almost sacrificed his son,

  nothing

  more holy

  than this.

  Not Just About

  I’m not just about Rumi,

  I’m also hip-hop

  DAM

  and even Ibrahim Ghunaim.

  Really love “Min Irhabi,”

  “Who’s the terrorist,”

  surely not me.

  I’m about Ramallah

  the streets

  dreams of joining protests

  my Ommi

  has forbidden.

  Protests

  that say

  there should be a two-state solution,

  a home for Israelis

  a home for Palestinians,

  each its own state,

  so we can walk

  the streets

  in safety.

  Not Just About

  I’m not just
Shakespeare,

  I’m Nico Teen

  Asaf Avidan.

  I’m music, moonlight, cafés

  dancing on the beach,

  and I might join

  the street fights

  for a two-state solution

  if Imah weren’t watching,

  and didn’t ask me about you, Jamil.

  She wants to know

  who you are

  cringes when I say,

  “Mohammed’s son.”

  The Rockets

  Rockets

  suicide bombers,

  blood on the side

  of the bus.

  Abba

  looking at me

  through slanted eyes

  like he knows I have something

  to hide.

  Jamil

  Checkpoints

  work permits, not given

  land

  taken away.

  Abi

  looking at me

  with angry eyes

  like he knows

  I have something

  to hide.

  Ronit and Jamil,

  a Walk in East Jerusalem

  Finally

  after days

  of rockets

  from Gaza

  no casualties,

  Israelis

  sent gunfire

  right back,

  but here we are

  holding hands

  sipping mint tea

  playing footsy with our toes

  making believe

  the rockets on the side of the road

  are just pretend.

  Ronit

  I see your face

  in the forest

  its wildness

  blends in the branches

  of my body,

  and this is it:

  the enigmatic way

  the twigs and bark

  beseech me to enter

  despite the fact

  that I may not return.

  But isn’t that the point?

  Jamil

  I see your face

  in the mirror

  of the water—

  sad eyes wandering

  a lost fish,

  and I say

  this water is ours

  no sign says

  Palestinians here

 

‹ Prev