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—
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