my mobile banking app wishes me a happy fourth of july.
how did Darwish write ‘i love you despite the nose of my tribe’?
to Rita, who eventually betrayed him to the Mossad.
when his silver chain sticks out from underneath his blue sweater
my face gets hot. i buy him a milkshake, begging for the american dream
to declare itself known. but there never was an american dream, not for us,
not for two hybrids with ancestors from various parts
of the Middle East. we slip out into the lukewarm night,
yelling “Ya Allah!” because it delights him
to hear me rejoice for a God both of us half-believe in.
we have taken the sand from the beaches and made new Gods,
the old traditions still bleeding through, Jerusalem and Mecca
might still call us 2000 years from now. my sister sends me her
Eid outfits. i tell her she looks beautiful.
Leave a Reply