Poetry by Adira Al-Hilo

Diaspora

Let me start with a poem about loss.

The way the crooked tree branch watches over me as I sleep

the torn bark

Mimic the lines of my fathers palms

But first, a poem about resent

the way it kept me full on a Sunday night

like hot steam in a Turkish bath house

Now a poem about childhood

That way we can get to the root of the rot

Back and forth now

we have to run back and forth across the fields the only way to catch frogs is to sneak up on them really light so that they don’t hear you

The only way to catch love is to sneak up on it really light so that it doesn’t hear you

Call us in for dinner now

one noise to feed us all

one noise to keep us safe.

Let me tell you a story about loss. But first you have to hold up your fingers. Five children. Three boys and two girls.

A father who holds war in his body.

Let me tell you a story about resentment, you leave your home land and find yourself lost in the pretense of freedom

What is freedom worth without a motherland to look upon

Let me tell you a story about my father. How his eyes sparkle emerald green, how his laugh hits you right here, where your throat closes up

How his call feels like a song to a home you’ve never been to

Let me tell you a story about me. I have no voice. I have no face. I have no country. I am transparent, I float, that’s what I do

I float.

I wait all day for the sun to peak at its favorite spot

I catch the feeling of white light on my eyelids for only a moment

Music plays on the horizon somewhere

a bird cast out of heaven sings home

the anxious neighbor waves

And I wave back

I say hello to the wild rabbit in the grass

I daydream about what it must be like to ride a bike on Sunday without thinking about Monday

I heard somewhere on the news that a body was found in the lake

The sun peaked anyway

We know that the world isn’t what we want it to be

So we continue.