The New Dictionary
The genocide has never tired
of visiting the city,
bringing its nails and teeth and legs
and the shadow of ghosts
walking side by side,
bringing its tongue to consume the language of a child.
So many of our children
have been raised to heaven.
The roads in the sky are crowded.
Souls, angels, warplanes, rockets.
I think of the rest of the children who are still on earth.
Genocide, missiles, death, corpse,
heads, shrapnel, quadcopter, tent,
death, and displacement are the new vocabulary test
Don’t worry, the child knows them all.
The eyes of the child see all the meanings.
If only spring were the lone missing word.
But dad and mom, house and home and spring,
fresh cold watermelon, grapes, olives, swing,
and sweet dreams at bed time—
when there were a bed and a time—are now
the missing words of the new dictionary.
Anti-Ishmaelism
I am Ishmael,
I am the offspring of the maid
but the oldest son too.
I am Ishmael,
the unwanted brother.
I carry the DNA of Abraham too.
I am Ishmael,
God’s first gift to Abraham.
I am also chosen.
I am Ishmael,
the light of Abraham is in my heart.
I am circumcised too.
I am Ishmael,
the Arabs’ grandfather. The promise of
the land of milk and honey is mine.
I Was A Superhero
Today, I fantasized
I was a superhero.
And yes, before you ask,
I wore my underwear
over my pants.
My name was not Basman
but BASMAN in shiny letters.
My weapon? Pen and notebook!
My superpower? Truth!
I practiced facing Sabra,
that fancier, fitter, whiter
Israeli superhero, so much better
in the eyes of the world.
Now, we stand face to face.
I have the strongest weapon!
I begin to speak—bold, clear—
yet suddenly her rocket
obliterates my voice.
And I am dying.
