The good folks at Wild RIver Review solicited poetry and prose from me during the most recent invasion of Gaza. I sent them several pieces and they picked these two pieces, a brave choice as these were the most hard-hitting ones. The first is a poem that is based on a conversation I had with a Palestinian boy on skype during the invasion and the second is a prose piece written in my aunt Walade’s voice (the picture that is included in the story is of her offering flowers in a field in Deir Keifa, our little village and my favorite literary subject). In this short prose piece my aunt retells how she witness a the killing of a neighbor by an armed Israeli MK drone. The title Im Kamil (mother of kamil) comes from the name that the villagers of south Lebanon gave to this ever present menace in their skies.
There I have a view of the olive grove and the wheat fields, all the way to the schoolhouse, and it’s a clean view. Here I can look out on this land and remember how your father courted your mother when he was working in those wheat fields in the summer. I can remember how Rabab used to sing over there on that perched house and her voice would carry all the way across the fields, into the houses across the way. I can think of all these things and not think at all.