On this walk
Around my house
In Amman
Everything
Reminds me of death.
After hours of scrolling past images and footage of blood and destruction and death
Everything
Reminds me of death.
The naked November trees,
The gray structure of a house under construction,
“This is rubble,”
They scream
The sound of Adhan calling the end of day
[Warplane flies overhead]
One minute too soon
One minute sooner than the day before,
All remind me of death.
Life is sacred, we believe.
But life is also dispensable, it seems.
[sighs]
In this fall,
[Warplane flies overhead]
The pine trees—
The pine trees,
Keep watch,
Their needles sharp
[Warplane flies overhead]
Watching
Tall
Always.
Even as the Jasmine flowers—my favorite, always—
Turn yellow
Small and dry and weeping
Face cast down
The pine tree stands tall,
Gathers her memories
Like a spider web
Cast between its needles.
As the night begins to fall
And the last rays of light
Go to bed for the day
I return home,
Slowly,
Step by step,
I return.
Knowing that the pine trees
Will be there
Come winter, come fall
And the house will be built and the gray swept from our street
And the yasmines will flower and flourish again.
Their fragrance will fill my lungs
despite the death and destruction of today,
For this now, let us not forget,
Now,
This moment,
Calls our name.
Let us be worthy of it.
Let us be worthy of tomorrow.
So that, our heads held high, we can smell the fragrance of the yasmine
Despite the fear
In Spite of the fear
And the heartbreak and the heartache
Soldier on.
Soldier on.
It will
be
worth it.
The yasmine awaits you in the spring,
[Warplanes flies overhead]
Winter comes
now.
Soldier on.
Dima Masri is a Palestinian writer, translator, and researcher based in Amman Jordan. Her writing has previously appeared in Sukoon Magazine and she has a forthcoming Arabic children’s book.
