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Sixty-Seven

There is a shadow in her room; it traverses the cracked walls and holed ceiling. At night it hides maybe in the remnants of her closet, maybe under the bed with tattered sheets, maybe it disappears, she does not know where it lurks, perhaps inside her heart. It dances on her walls, expanding, shrinking, attacking,Continue reading “Sixty-Seven”

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Shadow

You are the shadow in the back of my eyes Permanently imprinted on my retina Like a polaroid picture that never fades You are the mist of hot water droplets Condensing on my body Sliding down my neck Traversing the fullness of my curves You are the echoes at the end of my day,  BouncingContinue reading “Shadow”

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Sunbird

A flower stretches its neck in the sun, Anthers protrude rigidly  beyond its petals, Waiting expectantly for the bird  A Sunbird hovers  in the garden Flutters  from one flower to the other  Its feathers glisten iridescent blue.  Pollen scatters from its wings falling into the troughs of longing stoma The roses whisper for it toContinue reading “Sunbird”

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Metamorphosis II: Dear Motherhood

As my day starts and my level of stress shoots to star high levels, the piled undone laundry starts to develop an attitude, and the unprepared lecture notes start to guilt trip me into wondering what kind of person I have become. What happened to the talented, smart, intelligent, career oriented, size 8 wearing, 15 km running woman I once was?

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To Paris: A letter to the Jaba Checkpoint Soldier

Back when I was commuting between Abu Dis and Ramallah daily, and most especially when I was pregnant with twins and my belly was doing all the driving, I was stopped on my way home every day to be on the Jaba Checkpoint and asked where I was going… Everyday I had to fight the urge to say Paris!

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The Splendid Palestinian Table

As we age, we pursue cooking to replicate those dishes in the hopes of reviving childhood memories and all the feelings that come with them, and in the hopes that we can create similar experiences for our own children. Food is, therefore, not just sustenance, and our journeys into our kitchens are not only a daily chore to put food on our family tables, but rather a deliberate, creative process in which memories, love, belonging, loss, celebration, and a sense of identity are created and engrained for both those of us who cook and those who eat.