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Poetry
First Bombing For Suheir
Nathalie Handal
Sitting in my small chair
holding on to my small space
at the Longacre Theatre
New York City
a trembling inside me
the first bomb
Baghdad
and all I see
to keep me safe, keep me sane
is you, sister
all I want to see
is that familiar face,
your eyes that remind me
of my mother's eyes-dark deep beautiful
your desert color like my father
that give the earth color,
my father
who told me so many times-
that's power- it kills
but I choose to believe in
another power tonight
the power
rocking the stage
telling the world
we exist
we aren't nothing
even if we mean nothing
to you-
look at us
pronounce are names
remember us.
Ten O'Clock
the music off
the words
packed inside of us...
I look for you
the only one I know
who feels the way I do
I owe Poetri
five bucks still
he, who helped me find you...
we hold each other
our lives questioning
our tears falling
and I know
we are the civilized ones
no space between us
we hold each other tighter
we cry cry
in this basement on Broadway
knowing that
the worst is yet to come.
Eleven O'Clock
two thousand three,
march nineteen
New York City
Seven AM Baghdad
the radio is on
tears burning my face
the taxi driver
tells me to go to sleep.
I get home
close the door
a new trembling
in our world-
the sins we will commit
the shadows that will
grow in our silence
in our sleep
and
the words the dead
will keep
to remind us
of our deceits.
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"Ablood Horizontal Arches" Timothy Leonard
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Rachel's Palestinian War
Nathalie Handal
To Rachel Corrie, American peace activist, heroine murdered
Maybe hopefully one day
as you would say,
the world will
know what you know-
that small Palestinian children
know too much about
inhumanity for their age,
that Sharon's
assassination-during-peace-negotiations/land grab
is on full force,
that life in Palestine is about
checkpoints explosions digging roads,
about vegetable farms gardens orchards greenhouses
fruit trees after years hours, of care of work, bulldozed-
but I don't think you realized yet
that you would only be hearing
Ali's name-
the eight year old shot, killed by an Israeli tank-
only a little while longer,
that even if you thought
one day you could see the
ocean again, go home again,
that coming to Palestine
meant no longer having a choice again,
that you came from Mud Bay to Rafah
and became our Olympia
The night is warm and cold
and I can't stop crying
as I sit and write to you
I want every line to celebrate you
to caress your soul
your small body
Bulldozed
and once again Bulldozed
difficult to say to believe
even as I repeat...
Your shape
stains Rafah's earth
reminds this place
of its crimes
Your family
still questioning-why?
but in Falestin, the question is why?
the answer-why?
Tonight and every night
you will dance inside all of us-
Rachel's debke...
We will remember how you loved
barnhair sesamees Lincoln School
how you loved Nidal Mansur
Rafat, your Palestinian Grandma
We will remember the fragility of life
as your voice travels through us:
Mama, I have nightmares
of tanks and bulldozers
outside our house,
you and me inside
Mama, Love you, really miss you
Mama, the place is shrinking
Mama, life is shrinking
Mama, it hurts... to witness how
awful we can allow the world to be.
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Nathalie Handal is a
Palestinian-American poet, playwright and writer who has lived in the United States, Europe,
the Caribbean, Latin America and the Middle East. Her work has appeared in numerous magazines,
literary journals and anthologies worldwide, and she has been featured on NPR, KPFK, and PBS
Radio. She is the author of the poetry book, The NeverField, the poetry CD,
Traveling Rooms. She is the editor of The Poetry of Arab Women: A Contemporary
Anthology, an Academy of American Poets bestseller and winner of the
Pen Oakland/Josephine Miles award. She is finishing a play, and her poetry book, The Lives
of Rain, is forthcoming. Handal currently teaches at Hunter College.
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