informant38
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...But of these sophisms and elenchs of merchandise I skill not...
Milton, Areopagitica

Except he had found the
standing sea-rock that even this last
Temptation breaks on; quieter than death but lovelier; peace
that quiets the desire even of praising it.

Jeffers, Meditation On Saviors


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5.11.04

Thank you, God.

The first soldier to take my passport asks me the reason for my trip to Israel. "I wanted to see Jerusalem," I said. Not impressed. "And why Jerusalem?" What do I say? For the light of dusk found nowhere else. For the songs of the shoe sellers, each selling the same product, but to a different rhythm. For the history in the stones. For the footsteps of those who came before me. For Ralph, humming Mahalia Jackson's "Jerusalem", as I walk through the alleys. For Hasan. For Suzan and Sabrine. For Marwan and Bahia. For Jennifer. For my uncle Hammad. For all the beautiful men I met in all the towns, who cannot enter the Holy City. For all the beautiful women I met, who remember a long ago visit to this mythic place, but who can no longer travel to it. For Edward Said and Fadwa Tuqan. For Mohammad and Alia. Sameeh and Omar. For my grandfathers, who died with the keys to their homes still hung up. For the children of Sabra and Shatilla, those who survived and those who didn't. For the ful. The mint tea. The Mosque and the Church and even the Wall. Even. Because who am I to partition history? Who is this soldier in front of me, with his Russian ancestry and heavy tongue, to ask? For the children in the orphanage. For Sunset Park Brooklyn. For June Jordan. For Alice, who will make her own way here soon, I hope. For all the Zionists in New York who cut me out of interviews, reviews, photos and existence. For all the people who walked out on me while I was onstage. All the coughing campaigns to cover my words while I was performing. For Glen Thompson, who published me when no one else would. For all the New York Arabs who didn't come to the Broadway show. Especially for all of those who did. For the haters. For the lovers. For Jews who work against the Occupation. For those who do not believe in one superior and favored people. For the peace makers. For all the random checks and rude questions. For the zaatar. For the future. For poetry. For my soul.
I have to pay a tax to leave. I wait.

Suheir Hammad 13.Aug.04

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