POETRY

A Date With Palestine

“Crushed like an olive, Oozing liquid gold,
We exit, one by ten
As the Press
Turns a profit from our tears”

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Yafa, Palestine (Photos by the author, 2004).

Watch me read this poem:

A thousand deaths
At the tip of her hairpin
I abide —
To see her
Free

A thousand deaths
And yet —
She closes her eyes
To our love’s
Reality

She sees me not
From behind her chosen veil.
My flowers bounce —
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I kiss a stolen orange blossom
Only to feel the sting —
Of silence
Masking
The immutable truth of the tree