My Title

The child that stood on tip toes

Trying to see the men outside

Through bullet holes- I watched

Much too excited for change

“It will be beautiful, like America… like you see on TV.” One solider promised me

That was back in 2003

When ISIS was a nightmare yet to form

When angels wore uniforms

When enemies were clear to see

When I did not know the difference between you and me

But now my skin gives me a label I did not earn

Not a’Doctor’

‘Woman’

‘Rich’ nor ‘Poor’

I wear a title that I can not for the life of me shed

But that is a thing I dare not regret

 

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Adapting 

In a crack between two bricks

I left a message as I was taken away

And Freed from the rooftop 

I was allowed to visit the beach in May

Rain disturbed the strangers

But I was so happy to be free

And as time passed

I forgot the rooftop

And those strangers were much like me

.

.

(Note: I grew up in Iraq,  where we spent most days on the rooftops. Now I face the ocean on a rainy vacation. )

(دجاجة جدتي (ترجمة

-“هو كدجاجة جدتي”
هذا كان تعريفي لالله , حين كنت ستة سنين من العمر
رئيتها تجلس على بيضها و على بيض البط
و تعتني بالبط كما تعتني بالدجاج
و وجتها كالله, تعتني بالكل رغم الشكل و اللون