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Mama has been singing
She began trading in gold ankle bracelets once more
Olive tree heaven
once more
Falasteen once more.
handmade brick ovens
Waft scents of taboon bread
Over Anzah...
oh Anzah! she sings
On her streets your eyes flood
with spilled golden sesame seeds and zaatar
Like chips of gold on horse-tracked dirt roads
Her current occupation: Teaching children how to craft
Cypress tree necklaces
And speak their mother tongue.
Speak it loud and proud for you are palestenian, she proclaims
Your blood is fire and your heart beats like a Doumbek drum!
smell citrus showers in these palms
For these calloused hands, once wielded by your kin, laid brick by brick Al-Aqsa itself!
Her hand moves from holding mine
Dances towards Earth
Planting yet another olive seed
in nature’s heart
By her side I finally say,
Rather I whisper,
Or maybe just think:
I am free
Our bodies are rested
Minds not weary
Our code is alive
Our code is real
I dream of sweet things
Of wonders and promises lining my cells like the DNA I’m learning to love
For I have studied these nucleotides ending in olive branch telomeres
Under electron microscope
I watch them
grow tall and strong
Dip them in honey
Once for each year of remembrance I carry
Each feather on my wings
an ancestor yet to be born.
My Falasteen, I say
my lips curl up towards the heavens
Like half eaten date ka’ak
I wrap my arms around my busy mother
I am here
And so are they
My grandma and great grandma and great great great grandma
singing “Safar Barlek”
But this time, with the memory of
What comes next
“To return free, ya mama
How lucky are we
Really free, ya mama”
Falasteen
As in Ali
Me
As in Ana
You
As in Inti
Us
As in ihna
We are Free
As in horiyah!