First Writing Since
2020; Indiana University Press; Volume: 19; Issue: S1 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1215/15366936-8565913
ISSN1547-8424
Autores Resumo1. there have been no words.i have not written one word.no poetry in the ashes south of canal street.no prose in the refrigerated trucks driving debris and dna.not one word.today is a week, and seven is of heavens, gods, science.evident out my kitchen window is an abstract reality.sky where once was steel.smoke where once was flesh.fire in the city air and i feared for my sister's life in a way never before.and then, and now, i fear for the rest of us.first, please god, let it be a mistake, the pilot's heart failed, the plane's engine died.then please god, let it be a nightmare, wake me now.please god, after the second plane, please, don't let it be anyone wholooks like my brothers.i do not know how bad a life has to break in order to kill.i have never been so hungry that i willed hungeri have never been so angry as to want to control a gun over a pen.not really.even as a woman, as a palestinian, as a broken human being.never this broken.more than ever, i believe there is no difference.the most privileged nation, most americans do not know the differencebetween indians, afghans, syrians, muslims, sikhs, hindus.more than ever, there is no difference.2. thank you korea for kimchi and bibim bob, and corn tea and thegenteel smiles of the wait staff at wonjo—smiles never revealing theheat of the food or how tired they must be working long midtownshifts. thank you korea, for the belly craving that brought me into thecity late the night before and diverted my daily train ride into the worldtrade center.there are plenty of thank yous in ny right now. thank you for my lazyprocrastinating late ass. thank you to the germs that had me call insick. thank you, my attitude, you had me fired the week before. thankyou for the train that never came, the rude nyer who stole my cab goingdowntown. thank you for the sense my mama gave me to run. thankyou for my legs, my eyes, my life.3. the dead are called lost and their families hold up shaky printouts infront of us through screens smoked up.we are looking for iris, mother of three. please call with anyinformation. we are searching for priti, last seen on the 103rd floor. shewas talking to her husband on the phone and the line went. please helpus find george, also known as adel. his family is waiting for him withhis favorite meal. i am looking for my son, who was delivering coffee.i am looking for my sister girl, she started her job on monday.i am looking for peace. i am looking for mercy. i am looking forevidence of compassion. any evidence of life. i am looking for life.4. ricardo on the radio said in his accent thick as yuca, "i will feel somuch better when the first bombs drop over there. and my friends feelthe same way."on my block, a woman was crying in a car parked and stranded in hurt.i offered comfort, extended a hand she did not see before she said,"we're gonna burn them so bad, i swear, so bad." my hand went to myhead and my head went to the numbers within it of the dead iraqichildren, the dead in nicaragua. the dead in rwanda who had to vie withfake sport wrestling for america's attention.yet when people sent emails saying, this was bound to happen, lets notforget u.s. transgressions, for half a second i felt resentful. hold upwith that, cause i live here, these are my friends and fam, and it couldhave been me in those buildings, and we're not bad people, do notsupport america's bullying. can i just have a half second to feel bad?if i can find through this exhaust people who were left behind to mournand to resist mass murder, i might be alright.thank you to the woman who saw me brinking my cool and blinkingback tears. she opened her arms before she asked "do you want a hug?"a big white woman, and her embrace was the kind only people with thewarmth of flesh can offer. i wasn't about to say no to any comfort. "mybrother's in the navy," i said. "and we're arabs." "wow, you got doubletrouble." word.5. one more person ask me if i knew the hijackers.one more motherfucker ask me what navy my brother is in.one more person assume no arabs or muslims were killed.one more person assume they know me, or that i represent a people. orthat a people represent an evil. or that evil is as simple as a flag andwords on a page.we did not vilify all white men when mcveigh bombed oklahoma.america did not give out his family's addresses or where he went tochurch. or blame the bible or pat robertson.and when the networks air footage of palestinians dancing in the street,there is no apology that hungry children are bribed with sweets thatturn their teeth brown. that correspondents edit images. that archivesare there to facilitate lazy and inaccurate journalism.and when we talk about holy books and hooded men and death, why dowe never mention the kkk?if there are any people on earth who understand how new york isfeeling right now, they are in the west bank and the gaza strip.6. today it is ten days. last night bush waged war on a man once openlyfunded by the cia. i do not know who is responsible. read too manybooks, know too many people to believe what i am told. i don't give afuck about bin laden. his vision of the world does not include me orthose i love. and petitions have been going around for years trying toget the u.s. sponsored taliban out of power. shit is complicated, and idon't know what to think.but i know for sure who will pay.in the world, it will be women, mostly colored and poor. women willhave to bury children, and support themselves through grief. "eitheryou are with us, or with the terrorists"—meaning keep your peopleunder control and your resistance censored. meaning we got the lootand the nukes.in america, it will be those amongst us who refuse blanket attacks onthe shivering. those of us who work toward social justice, in support ofcivil liberties, in opposition to hateful foreign policies.i have never felt less american and more new yorker—particularlybrooklyn, than these past days. the stars and stripes on all these carsand apartment windows represent the dead as citizens first—not familymembers, not lovers.i feel like my skin is real thin, and that my eyes are only going to getdarker. the future holds little light.my baby brother is a man now, and on alert, and praying five times aday that the orders he will take in a few days time are righteous and willnot weigh his soul down from the afterlife he deserves.both my brothers—my heart stops when i try to pray—not a beat todisturb my fear. one a rock god, the other a sergeant, and bothpalestinian, practicing muslims, gentle men. both born in brooklynand their faces are of the archetypal arab man, all eyelashes and noseand beautiful color and stubborn hair.what will their lives be like now?over there is over here.7. all day, across the river, the smell of burning rubber and limbs floatsthrough. the sirens have stopped now. the advertisers are back on theair. the rescue workers are traumatized. the skyline is brought back tohuman size. no longer taunting the gods with its height.i have not cried at all while writing this. i cried when i saw thosebuildings collapse on themselves like a broken heart. i have neverowned pain that needs to spread like that. and i cry daily that mybrothers return to our mother safe and whole.there is no poetry in this. there are causes and effects. there are symbolsand ideologies. mad conspiracy here, and information we will neverknow. there is death here, and there are promises of more.there is life here. anyone reading this is breathing, maybe hurting, butbreathing for sure. and if there is any light to come, it will shine fromthe eyes of those who look for peace and justice after the rubble andrhetoric are cleared and the phoenix has risen.affirm life.affirm life.we got to carry each other now.you are either with life, or against it.affirm life.Originally published in Meridians vol. 2, no. 2, 2002.
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