we are not numbers

emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights

Superwoman

For my mother

March 21 is Mother's Day in the Arab world.

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As if with "S" on her chest,
she swallows the fire of her lost lover,
raising not one or two,
but three children—TWINS!—alone

She comforts us with the strength of her hands,
cradling our weeping, heavy heads
against her strong-yet-soft shoulder.
Not easily does she share laughter or tears,
but I recognize love in her long hours at the stove,
the smell of her food crafted by her hands.

I remember her face most often.
Her smile comforts me sun-up to sundown.
I tell her of my day, as we share her musakhan*.   
I overhear her love whispered and mumbled
in every prayer, every soft laugh and sigh,
every Allah yeerda aleek* from her lips.

 

*Musakhan is a traditional Palestinian dish (onions sautéed with sumac with bread and grilled chicken. Allah yeerda aleek means God bless you in Arabic.

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