misplaced
I am half Arab
which country is my mother
which country is my father
the one that raised me
or the one that
I secretly long for
inhabiting the olive skin
of my father
with all its tragedy
and the inner splendour
of his people
they are my people too
not knowing
that I am theirs
it is
the unspoken sense of loss
as how can you lose
a heart that never had a chest to beat in
a bird stuck in a window
half open
to the sky
father
where were you
to teach me about your homeland
how was I supposed to know
that
your land
your kingdom over there
gets so hot
that the spit thickens
in your mouth
and your eyes sweat
watermelons are so ripe
that they burst open with black seeds
like pregnant flowers
you did not show me
how to kneel
to face the Ka’bah
or that your daughter is your nūr
the Arab in me does not have a country
to pray to
to live in
to fight for
the Arab woman in me
is cut in half
she does not know how to speak
in what language
to raise her unborn sons and daughters
when her own tongue
is foreign
to her own tongue
where do I go with all this
if my bird is trapped here
and cannot fly
there.
