Two Poems
Illustration by Lena.
what's it called when israel destroys a palestinian village because there's allegedly an ancient jewish civilization under it
i learn about an ancient society, a trade partner w/ egypt & greece from
a tumblr post no one wrote down the location b/c they always thought things
would be this way. all of the empires of the past shrink & fall & leave
little traces in our eyebrows i think based on history we’re approaching
the end of empire. late-stage capitalism has been happening for a while
i guess when we say things aren’t sustainable i wonder how many ppl
are just going to hitch a ride to the moon...the moon. i don’t think
i’d like to live there. mom said they used to get mlkhouieh from
safoori safoori is an “archeological” site now. we buy
mlkhouieh frozen in the states. when i was a kid i thought
archeology was cool like dinosaurs & space & scary deep ocean fish &
&&&& now i know they raze a home for the possibility of stone
that can prove them older than us in nazareth there is a church
my father’s greatmaybegreatgreatgreat grandfather rebuilt
after it burned. my dad has a photo w/ a tomb & in it we lay.
the colonizers history cares nothing for our fingerprints
how long are memories anyway?
there was a name even before my mom’s name was my dad’s
name too people remember us & maybe the fig tree & church,
too is that all we can ask for? we sold watermelon the lucky ones.
we know what saved us. now we fear the day more holy sites
become learning escapades for well-funded phds with rusty
tools and colonial glares to rip my greatmaybegreatgreatgreat
grandfather off our family tree into a textbook instead. call it
a great discovery. pretend we didn’t already know there was so much here
before & before & before & before & before & before
poem for akka in 2 parts
i.
i sing to the sea air in akka
the first & only time
i visit palestine
an american song out
of my american mouth
my cousins practice
their english & i memorize no language
but their voices
we eat white fish & i cry
at every bone i miss
salty tears & salty
sea & salty salt mingling
on my lips oh the sting
is so good when you
love the air that sends it
i know i was happy
once, there is
a photograph to
prove it: my uncle
warm-faced, me
on his shoulders
& a white shawl
to cover my arms
newly baptized
by god, by home,
family flank us
on either side. in akka
i sang
to the sea; seven years
old & my first love
the mediterranean breeze
or maybe it was
tabariyeh oh if only
i could tell the dead
sea i love it too
ii.
i sing
palestine
american s
practice
no
voice
bone s
tear a t
sea
oh
the air
was happy
once
n o
a sh
cover
ed
home
akka
sang
the sea
my love
the breeze
oh
the dead
too ◆
Summer Farah is a Palestinian American poet and editor. She is the outreach coordinator for the Radius of Arab American Writers. Summer is currently a reviewer at Vagabond City Lit and co-writes the biweekly newsletter Letters to Summer. Her work has been published in or is forthcoming from Mizna, LitHub, The Rumpus, and other places. Find her on Twitter or her website.