‘Palestine’

by Reem

I come from the smell of olives. I come from flight P1948, from the bright dawn light of arrival. I come from trees, warmth, war; I come from fights and bombs, from love and sorrow. I come from a small village; from broad spacious streets where vine leaves wrap around the branches that climb the walls of houses; from beautiful markets with stalls selling grapes and melons and strawberries. I come from the Dome of the Rock, Jerusalem, Al-Aqsa Mosque. I come from May the 14th. I come from the little cracks in the corners of the streets and from the houses with bullet holes in the walls. I come from the glazing heat, from the prayer to God to create some sort of peace. I come from the ‘I’ve lost my son’, and from the tears that roll down wrinkled cheeks. From bodies draped in bleached white linen. I come fromthe land that isn’t present anymore, from the thick accent of the Middle East. I come from sadness and kindness, from hope and grief. I come from oppression and I come from silence. I come from the people of Palestine. I come from the voiceless and the mute. I come from the key to the truth; from civil rights and the unstable; from the lost and taken. I come from the heart of inequality.

-R