Editor’s note: One of the unique features of We Are Not Numbers is the pairing of each Palestinian writer with an international mentor. They often form close relationships. Basman’s poetry mentor is Kevin Hadduck. Below is a poem Kevin wrote for Basman, and Basman’s response.

Photo: Jean van der Meulen, Pexels

The shape of it

For Basman Derawi

Knowing where you are now,
hearing of what your life is now,
among all things broken,
I reconsider the shape of my hope.

I am old, white, American,
and there is much I want,

but nothing I can take,
or claim, or demand, or expect,
or even be, except in the way
that flowers and birds know
to be themselves, merely,
needing each other.

“To know you for more years
than life may give us.”
That is the shape of it.

That is all, and much.
That is all, as nothing else
means in the way that
an iridescent sunbird means
when it finds nectar among
the blossoms of the red acacia.

Kevin Hadduck

Photo: Alfo Medeiros, Pexels

The shape of it

For Kevin Hadduck

Every bloody scene,
every head of a beheaded baby
threads fear into my sleep.

Every American bomb dropped
on another Palestinian family,
every charge of terrorism,
every set of newborn twins killed
on the date of their birth certificate
forces me to reconsider
the shape of my hope.

Every good morning sent to heaven,
Every sweet memory of Essa, Ouda, and Eman,
every hand on my shoulder,
every American or European student
holding my flag in hand and heart,
every bird in Gaza singing
through the buzzing of drones,
an old white American friend
sending love poems to his Palestinian friends
forces me to reconsider
the shape of my hope.

Every reflection in the mirror,
the blood on my face,
the taste of it in my mouth,
every line of love from a poem,
every image of a flower in Gaza
sneaking up among the ruins,
forces me to reconsider
the shape of my hope.

Basman Derawi

See also Breathing: a poem duet, by Basman and Kevin.