HARVESTING IN GAZA

 i asked ahmed to show me your fasoulia bil lahme last week

and he just laughed, telling me to stop joking with him

because the harvest this year reaped nothing but souls

and it’s funny people say october is the time for nature

with the trees shedding all hues of orange and brown

to make time for renewal and birth, and ahmed said

that only in my imagination does autumn mean birth

when our homes are no more than empty crates

just like the ones mariam would bring to school

except bursting with ripe olives and medjoul dates

with cold cucumbers and her khyar bi laban was to die for

but amal slapped my wrist and scolded me, remembering

that we would have begged for extra laban for za’atar

after racing home to show how much better it was

than yours, but the taste of my food doesn’t swallow

as easily here, with the rich taste of chilli and garlic

and the sweet and sour of each spoonful, because it’s bitter

with blood and the pungent smell of solitude reeks inside me

and it’s evident, from the eyebags i carry staring at my screen

and the scowl i paint on my face when i see white and blue

even if it’s a football team of my new home, and i have no friends

except ahmed, but we search in each other solace and comfort

instead finding a glazing empty hole of home and family

because ahmed may know how to make me laugh

but it doesn’t echo the same as when abba made me hysterical

and ahmed can keep me company, but hanan and wafa were the noor

of the household, and little muhammad will never grow as tall as ahmed

proud of our people with blazing fires in place of hearts and pillars

of faith that ground us to life itself, to keep fighting and strong

but ammi, i am weak without you in this country with so many values

yet these people do not stand true to respect and tolerance,

and in aiding the very flame that finished our home, i will never

look at the western world with the same reverence people insisted

about liberty and freedom and true democracy, except embossed

in complete cowardice that even muhammad rebuked.

ammi, i do not know where you all are, but you will forever be in me

even as the seasons change into spring and summer, and i pray

we reunite, if not in this dunya, but the hereafter, in paradise

which is where all of our homeland can never be taken.

by Haleema Ougradar