A Eulogy for my Zionism (and Virginity)

(A Poem, with Translation)

After Chris Abani

Poem

Yesterday I saw palm trees

And the arteries in my eyes grew

Hands to stroke away

The sadness that once danced

Circle dances around

Small fires and heavy braids

That I never knew but also

Did once know

Translation

When I write palm trees, I mean 16-year old nationalism

Or orientalism, or sex

When I write arteries, I mean to write about everything that

Pushups in the hallway and dog-eared biographies of soldiers

Still don’t let me write about

When I write hands, I notice how much my own

Look like a woman’s, slender, and dotted with perfect

Pink scars

When I write sadness, I taste the minerals- iron, Vaseline, concrete

Za’atar that my body rejects or longs for

Surfacing behind my eyes, bulldozers on the crusted horizon

When I write eyes, I mean to write about eyes

When I write dancing, I mean graffitied basements and

Stale beer, baseball caps and hallucinogens and how hard her nipples grew and

Other American Anachronisms

When I write fire and braids, I mean sex, again

Or war- perhaps I meant to write “berets”

When I write about knowing, I am back before

The palm tree, a breeze is broken around my wrists

fading orbs of bright hum and my eyes