home
cicadas and 
red wine
mind full of memories, ideas and thoughts
heart full of love, questions and dreams
soul full of desire, envy and determination
home
home for weary feet and tired eyes
home for transitions and shortcuts
and longcuts 
and anything in between
home
home

my mom pulls me up the gravel drive
in a wounded red wagon
its wheels churning slowly
under a hot sun

dinner is burning
i can smell the rank odor
and i get nervous

a burning dinner is never a good thing
see, for me, it usually means death

it means another nanny or papa or
tante or uncle
habibti, daughter or son
has been killed

it means my psyche
still fresh with wound
takes another blow

it means that only time
can measure my restraint

it means that i lay down at your feet
and let you walk all over me
if you will

and it means i rise again

on my way to the fine east coast
music, dancing, ocean and feasts
laughter and love, family and treats
healthy children by my side
strong, educated, funny and cute
not oblivious but sheltered
from the horrors of the world
we will swim at the beach
swim as far as we dare
no bombs will land on this beach
no snipers will shoot if we swim too far
no child will see his best friend blown to bits
as he stands there, helpless
bloody in the night
no mother will wail in the night
as the sirens drown out her sorrow

when we come home
our house will be neat and orderly
not a pile of rubble where kids have to play
our schools will be cleaned by unionized custodians
waiting for the happy screams of schoolchildren
not temples to the innocents
our families will be in front of the tv
watching the bombs drop
'such a shame', one will say
'it's complicated', says another
and then they'll click the channel
click
click
click
and the sun will rise on the children of Gaza
again