Category: Writing

Posted on

Beloved: A Poem for Palestine | Poems that Suck

This is the poem that won the Anita McAndrews Poetry Award

There’s a funny story behind this poem:


It was written in January of 2017 – 1 month after I returned from Palestine the first time. It is the product of a class assignment: I had to write a Psalm using non-traditional language and non-traditional versing. I was PISSED that I had to write this (if any of you know me, there’s two parts of the Bible I cannot stand – Psalms and anything Paul wrote). I put it off for a week, grumbling and bitching about having to do it. I was, additionally, experiencing a major depressive episode at the time and just didn’t have the energy to do it. So the night before it was due, I sat down and wrote this.


Funny how life works out, huh?

You can read it here or below:

Beloved:

You called me to the ends of the Earth,
the place where your breath sighs,
so that I might suffer to find
brotherhood.

I met you at every step, the ochre
Judean sands gritting between my
toes as I tried to match you;
heel to toe.

Your spirit whipping my hair, as
I traced the desolate crescendos
of the South Hebron Hills in the dying
winter light.

I have known the fragile weight of you,
destroyed, in my open arms as despair
swallowed me on the rocky shores of
the Kinneret.

Heard your voice transform from singing
in a sumptuous Arabi to the shrill scream
of terror as I stood, useless, on the rooftops:
Al-Khalil.

I have seen your face in its forms of hurt
and healing; bruised purple, smeared with
blood, swollen; the gift of a crazed soldier
or settler.

Smelled the acrid stench of burning wire,
choking me, stinging my eyes as I trudged
knee deep in filth to bring your children
to kindergarten.

Beloved:

You have called to where my heart throbs
thrice: Fal-a-steen -and I can’t ever hope
to rid myself of the land, the people, or
the life.

You invite me, now, to receive you in
the fruit of the vine, to fill myself
with your sacrifice so that I might match you
heel to toe.

Posted on

The Untraveled Path | Poems that Suck

I have a photo of a place I love, 
 took it before I even knew you existed;
  a pathway drenched in the golden, afternoon light
   which lead to a small cluster of fragrant orange trees. 

We stood at that very spot once, 
 many years later and took a photo together.
  It's long gone but I remember it; 
   you arms were wrapped around my hips

Holding me delicately, as if I were a treasure.
 I was turned slightly, curled in the warmth of 
  your shoulder, eyes closed as you kissed the
   side of my head, on the temple, so sweetly. 

Every time I look at that photo,
 I imagine us there - ghosts of love
  that never blossomed, but had always stayed
   sweet - and I smile at what could've been.
Posted on

Olivewood | Poems that Suck

We snuck into the church's gift shop in
 hopes of escaping the oppressive summer heat.
  They had an air conditioner, which felt delicious
   on our sweaty skin and sunburnt shoulder blades.

Trying to look inconspicuous, we pretended
 to shop, so the clerk wouldn't catch on and
  throw us out. You were looking at something intently
   and when I came to see, you extended your hand to me.

In the bowl of your palm was a perfectly carved,
 polished olivewood heart. I turned my palm skyward
  to see if you would offer it; you dropped it into
   my waiting hand without hesitation.
Posted on

To Swallow the Sun | Poems that Suck

 Your long, thin finger crept
                       like a spider
           up my inner thigh.
 
 "Stop," I hissed through my teeth;
                 a warning. 
 "No one's looking, no one cares."
                and you continued
 your journey up the pale length of my skin.
 
 The pads of your fingertips reached their
                   intended destination
 and I sighed with the delicious feel of them,
 
 as I gazed, heavy lidded, at the sea,
                    head tilted back,
 as if I were swallowing the sun. 
Posted on

Triptych Part I (The First Kiss) | Poems that Suck

We lie on the rocky
              seashore,
the night sky spread
wide like an eager
              lover. 


We were talking but I
             was distracted,
our fingers were nearly
touching and I was
             electrified.


Then you slid out of
              your clothes;
I was determined not to
look at the narrow beauty
                      of you.


But I was compelled to
                  join you
in the water; a cool 
kiss on my skin in the
                   thick humidity.


You slipped beneath the still,
                      dark surface
seizing my wrist gently
to take me further out
                  to sea.
                                          (and, God, I was willing)


Then you reappeared, you hair
                     plastered to
your face, and for a wild
moment I wondered if that's what
                      Jesus looked like.


And as I tried to figure
                  this out,
I became aware that you
were slowly coming closer, 
                   and closer. 


We watched each other like
                      two battle
weary cats, projecting our
intentions so there could be
                         no mistake. 


Then you were hovering
                   above me, 
and I swallowed with difficulty,
licking my lips to prepare for
                       the inevitable. 


It began gently, as if testing
                       the waters
but, fire began roiling 
through my veins and I just...
                      let go. 


It was as if the sky
                 caught fire
and I could still see the fierce
blaze through my tightly shut 
                        eye lids.
Posted on

Devour(ed) | Poems that Suck

I wanted to paint
 a picture of your
   eyes,
     see. 

One that captured
 all the deep blue
  and the light blue
   fibers of your
     iris. 

I wanted to
 paint your pupil
  huge,
   you know, 
    like a quarter, 
     or a moon, 
       or a god-damn Buick. 

Swollen, like when
 you would whisper
  you loved me and I
   thought I could tell
    you weren't lying. 

Engorged, so large
 I could see myself
  in them and I was a 
   different
     person, 
      content with the mundane. 

Those pupils would
 swallow me, 
  devour me
   whole; 
    flesh, 
      bones.
       Everything.

And then you blinked.