Free of Its Debris
By Micaela Kaibni Raen
(Excerpt from a longer written work.)
Flying away from hate and violence
above even the birds
I thought I could be free
like the trees in Tivolli
or a rose in its garden
they can grow and dance
as I am obliterated and resurrected
flying, with Ramallah
in my stomach...
A layer of fear, as thick as the cloud deck outside of my
window, made my lips shake as the steel wings shook in response to the breezy
cold. Fear overpowered the shape-shifting monster, a tear came to my eye but
disappeared into the status quo, thoughts can kill and so can green suits.
Afraid of the wind, I fly higher and faster than my grandmothers, but I can see
nothing but a wintery gray prison. The stewardess leaned down, "Bidek Qah-wah?" She asked. Turning
to answer, I saw that she was asking the woman sitting in front of me. Looking
up at the happy green and red decorations on her name tag, I felt sad.
"Would you like some coffee?" I heard her say as if from a dream, a
tear came to my eye and I could say nothing. I realized that I was not in a
hurry to get home anymore. I missed the lips and love of home, the dreamt of
reunion playing through the long nights like the roar of Shaikh Imam, but turning
back to the window I could feel the tears on my hand and see the monsters,
fluid and victorious. I knew a piece of me had been destroyed and that I would
never be free of its debris.