If it were not for the Nakba,
May 15 might be a sunny day,
of fresh breeze and laughter,
in Jeddi’s yard with Ouda and Essa,
singing “Ya Zareef A Tool,”
dancing wild and wilder Dabka,
and eating watermelon heart.

Jeddi planted watermelon seeds
and never knew that someday
they would yield a symbol
of a stolen land and of a dream,
black, white, red, and green.

If it were not for the Nakba,
I would not know the irony
of Essa’s birth as overlay
of joy upon catastrophe,
anniversary on anniversary.
Essa was my counterpoint to tears
and old pics in black and white.
Essa kept a smile, wide and bright.

I never missed a year of wishing Essa
happy birthday and long life, knowing
that our lifespans here are short.
I assign that mission now to Ouda,
spitting melon seeds with Essa in Jannah.