in glorious terms

كيفِك؟

It’s you, +972.

It is heatwave

and power cuts

sunburnt flowers

and your mirage

everywhere. There’s nothing

to cool me down. I settle

somewhere without my shoes

under a table. Ask for ice

where they don’t have.

I slide my plate away with two fingers.

Watch a bee hover over sticky cups.

I push the table with one leg.

Text back: تمام. كيف الجو عندَك

∞

I tell you: ألم

is an anagram of أمل

and isn’t our language

always a homecoming.

You, a homecoming. I love

I worry in two languages

not knowing. You say:

speaking of أمل

am I seeing you tonight?

∞

It is midnight. We settle

on a qahwa. There’s a

street cart. We order

sandwichat كبدة.

Cool off with سوبيا

and you tell me

how you left غزة

with 11 recipes.

How before you left

your mother, your mother

left them for you

in a voice note.

How her voice

Was warm bread.

I ask you, is she beautiful?

(because you are)

and you say, جداً.

∞ 

I found الله

last October. I was

knocked off by grief

I’m now 10 months

sober. I found Him,

small Gazan hands,

won’t touch November.

Clink of bones in a plastic bag,

a chill before the winter.

I waited for the world

to come forth, for Him

to prove this wrong,

for the trees to wrath

what’s this  و يااللة

big plan You have

to love the size of trees

so full of grief, in glorious terms

because of war.

∞

I watch you undergo erasure

then I unwatch it. Fade you

back in. I think of you again

and again. What is belonging

without a place to belong?

I want to be that place,

this skin of yours so fair

despite your burnt enclave. 

I want my country. I think of us

again. Coffees at 2 am

2 minutes from my house.

How they bombed your house

again and again. I fade you back in.

Tell you about my father.

Catch a glint of you in deep water. 

I tell you أنا فلسطينية until night

fades, until day breaks.

∞

You stick to what you know

Text a rose  و يسعد صباح

You greet so generously

The siege you leave behind

you bring in kinship, community.

Black White Red Green heart emojis

 من يدَك  When will you feed me  

(because they are your hands) 

I eat everything, just not ضاني

You stick to what you know,

make Ouzi. Feed me Gaza, generously.

Everything with a side of green chili.

∞

I go see my sister.

We walk the streets of كوربة

though my feet are elsewhere.

We talk love و القضية

Me, you, and where it hurts us.

She says, careful. Hope is

pain when it’s all that’s left

and you are not what I am

looking for. You are not

my lost country. Don’t.

And I need to ask you

next time I see you, what if

they burn my country

before I find it?

What if you is all

that’s left?