Pistachio Ice Cream They told me the Arabs named the stars algol, sirius, aldebaran… My mother’s olive-shaped eyes sandaled feet led me into centuries of vast empires forgotten treasures Now, only ruins remain. This was the summer i bathed in olive oil and sat on the sidewalks of Jerusalem eating pistachio ice-cream with the old man whose ancient face tried to explain to me that we fought with our hearts and not our heads—therefore we would never win. i am dead to my tribe i will never learn all its salty secrets So tonight I want to sleep with vega, deneb, altair… because they will disappear with the morning sun, and only ruins remain.” — Annemarie Jacir, Palestinian Poet
Posted on: Sat, 16 Nov 2013 04:10:41 +0000