Rifqa

by Mohammed El-Kurd

Solidarity is not just about our shared pain or struggle but also, most importantly, about our shared joy, visions, and dreams. It is an energetic force and a resounding love.

“I cried not for the house but for the memories I could have had inside it.”

olives za’atar tomatoes and cucumber tragedy tear gas and tea In Jerusalem, every footstep is a grave. This was only love: her skeleton is that of the tree’s, roots stitched into land into identity. Separation is like unmaking love ungluing names to places undoing God.

Tell our children the word soldier means what it shouldn’t that terrorists look nothing like what God on TV says they should. Tell them monsters do exist desiring their skulls—souvenired, their limbs—mosaicked, and their truths—tarnished again.

Children threw stones Sirens were lullabies / fireworks; bombsand we were sick of it

What candy are we thrown? What will my kids learn from a world ignorant of them?

Shoe to the head I’ve never felt pride like this. Bushshoe to the head. Mother was in the kitchen Saddam in a noose, handsome.Apologies wrapped in tweed.

Bush sits beside me on the train. Iraq veteran cites his fear of fireworks. They think they’re the only ones with PTSD.We’re literate in peeling off our own skin to sleep.