"A Palestinian Boy..." A poem by twohawksfucking

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A Palestinian Boy Looks through the Rubble Inside His Home
in a Refugee Camp near Tyre

". . . thinking quietly how surely heaven must have something of the color and shape of whatever village or hill or cottage of which the believer says, This is my own."
——William Faulkner, Light in August




Theres a kid wearing an orange T-shirt
in a room of gauzy, scavenger sunbeams.
And a burst wall with its window intact.
And a Lebanese flag with a green cedar
brazing the air above block after block
of bombed-out houses. Maybe he hears
shrieking from catacombs in the collapse,
maybe audible voices and a dog barking.
If Heaven is an echo of our last home here,
a window opening onto a hillside-orchard

where trees sag from their summer weight,
then a contingent of new arrivals is blissful,
believing there can be no sinful act on earth
for which they will not be forgiven. Maybe
the boy is recalling a man and white poodle
walking the streets, unhurried in pre-dawn,
another partisan who'd been screwing and
taking Gods name in vain until a whirring
like unhived, angry bees halted all interest
and he headed, far too late, for the shelter.

If he comes back to the wreck of Childhood
with a notion of putting things in perspective,
what seems large to a boy wont be to the man.
Seeing differently changes objects, landscapes.
Memory's precincts invariably transubstantiate
into a crummy hill at the edge of a ruined city.
Nonetheless, he may want a token from that hill.
Maybe he finds a rock which his mans closed-
hand just about covers. And the stone carries
the hard smell of skin after he holds it. Skin

and the pleasures of being anyone humming
his national anthem. If the hill is a temple,
then the token is its miniature. A reminder
of limits, an end of one thing and a beginning.
Presence. Geological time. He may appreciate
the way one can seemingly cancel the other
before they become inseparable and the same.
The light on his ziggurat of rubble is a clock.
And for as long as light moves this afternoon
the hour is his to inhabit. Perfect, and holy.

Copyright 2009 Roy Bentley

Category:

News & Politics

Tags:

• poetry
• spoken
• word
• twohawksfucking

[saidmohamm]

Great poem. There's a lyric that says "My scar was an exhibit for tourists who amused themselves by taking pictures." This lyric rings in my head anytime a non-refugee Palestinian creates a piece of art about us. Don't take it the wrong way. The word amused doesnt have to equate happy. In 100 years your poem might be studied in an anthropology class on the Moon, or some other planet that humans will occupy and justify its occupation. Ok now I am ranting. Again, thank you for a beautiful poem.

[tinySpectacle]

@saidmohamm Nice quote and a thoughtful response. I think anytime a person is greatly impacted by an experience, he thinks he owns the experience, and, to a certain extent he does. But art's role is to show something universal in the specific. But I'll let that be my only comment on it, as I am not the author of this poem, only the reader.

[jcmegabyte]

So poingnant and full of feeling, yet slice of life in a modern conflict sort of way. Interesting setting you chose for reading - the brighter light and intense blue in your eyes helped add depth and presence to the whole experience. You've done Roy's work justice. :-)

[tinySpectacle]

Thank you so much. Yes, the car setting was because I was serving jury duty and did it on my lunch break.

[writteninword]

Wonderful. This poem created a great visual.

I like how you seemed to toss the first page aside and continue reading, unphased. Plus, you have beautiful blue eyes that pierce.

I want more poems from you, though, because yours made me shudder. It's a good shudder, mind you.

[tinySpectacle]

Written: Thanks. But right back at you on the whole "write more poems thing." I want to shudder, too. :)

[PalestineATW]

Thank you Sooo much...

[TheSisco44]

Well, the attention of western people to the palestinian struggle is nice. But , unfortuneately quite futile. The pain of palestinians can be recognized but outsiders, but never understood or felt-which makes poetry from outsiders rather.... disingenious

[MitzvaMobile]

The man stopped then realized he will be killed and took flight, the rest is so ugly, lawless people grab the kid away and try to have him Die....so they can call the news for a full story

[alaaxl822]

Help them bich how reading a gay poem helping

[justice4all1985]

this is more than great. Thank you.

[salloom87]

good bless you

[Drastam]

you are beautiful reading this