Poetry reblog from 2012 about my grandmother
Tateh and CeDe ( my grandfather) circa 1937
Upon the landscape of your face
tumbling from the folds of your laughing brow
and between the creases of your weathered jowl
I see the history of Palestine.
I see children playing under olive trees, and goats
grazing on grass. Your eyes sparkle and sing, as though
you were still a child running through the dusty
rock strewn roads of Ramallah.
You are laughing with your little sister, escaping
from the neighborhood boys you were teasing; taunting.
Perhaps one of them a young Hanna Shihadeh, our grandfather;
at least these are the stories you told us.
I delighted, relished every word you spoke
of your life. I saw magic in your eyes
when you enchanted our hearts
with your stories of Palestine.
You – solid, sturdy and present.
You – soft, strong and pliant.
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