The Current State of Occupation

Published in BASE: Building Alliances for Social Engagement

I abandoned my innocence
in a hotel room in East Jerusalem,
with thin walls and narrow beds that
creaked hushed confessions:
War and Politics and Passion and Urgency
and Love
melting in a crucible
where there was no injustice
for those with dark skin,
and there was always one more day
I didn’t have with you.

During the invasion,
I took a last look at my old life
from behind bullet-shattered windows.
In Aida Refugee Camp,
Palestinian faces creased with worry,
we waited for the drones.
“From childhood, everyone knows
what follows:”
ringing phones,
blood types listed on yellow legal paper,
an oatmeal sky,
a bomb-littered street,
a sniper tower,
phone numbers permanently inked
up and down
my arms

When the tanks finally rolled
down the streets,
it was almost a relief.

In Bethlehem, you came to me
like a wise man to a star,
bearing something more than
the bread I sought amidst the rubble.
Tank tracks driven through my resolve to resist
I allowed myself to be
Occupied.

In a land of injustice
you became the just.
In a land of destruction
I became the creator.
We sang celebrations over the explosions
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
When the smoke cleared
from the silhouettes of ancient church steeples
I saw only a changed world,
never mind the return plane ticket.

We sampled hotel rooms in
Bethlehem, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem,
escaping into the old, walled city
where we could drink Arabic coffee and
pretend to be tourists.
On our last evening
we climbed the Mount of the Olives
where Jesus ate his last supper
and silently watched the sun set
over the Middle East.
Take of this body and remember me.

Now that moment is a photograph
of a man and a woman with strange smiles.
Over static phone lines stretched thin,
my mind is still kissing you goodbye
from the taxi on Ben Yehuda.
And, like a stray bullet
arching through a holy night,
I am burning up in my own fire.