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the in-between of exile

by dina omar 
1.	Chi-Town 

Below a 9 story tenement building 
I chalk 
seven blocks 

            to play 
         hopscotch
   Throw a rock and 

skip 
the 
box 
  it 

landed in

With white chalk I stole from my classroom 
The chalk outline 
Looked like a T to me
To the Christian yard duty it’s a cross  
Ya’ Muslim Child 
Confused  
The Yard duty calls me
Godless For stopping on crosses
The one white girl in my class 
Calls me 
Dirty, for my ashy elbows and knees


Double-Dutch, 2 square, Friday prayers  
Skinny brown girl with hairy legs
Got zaatar in her teeth before recess
Other kids with PB&J laugh 
And… 
I ask mama
For lunchables the next day
Ask mama
 ‘can I shave my legs’ 
Ask mamma 
‘don’t call me habibety’ 
It’s embarrassing 


Sito makes
Mansaf 
Ahhh Mansaf
She 
Tore
      
      bread 
into 

   
pie  ces 

over 
the rice 
Roast lamb
Roast lamb 
To Wet it up 
Creamy soup   
Ma’ kishick
Drizzle
 
    Chopped 
      
       parsley 
on top 

and 
        Sauteed 

snober  

In Ameerka  
Sito’s Mansaf
Is replaced with macaroni and Cheese 
If we had extra cash 
Sito would cut hot dogs into it
 










2.	Filasteen

Our 	          bodies 
          float 
in the Dead Sea 
We play Toong’ on it’s surface
Our fathers honor 
In the gossip of old women 
My father 
His blood soaked in the soil of Rammon  
Where we bury our dead


Those who stole our land call us 
Uncivilized, for our audacious refusal to die
Those we live among now call us
Animals, as mama watched her
Animal  
Mama’s Home demolished by Israeli Caterpillar bulldozers
Shrapnel sticks on her skin
Mama’s family lives in a chicken hut for 13 months
Mama cleans up Sido’s bloody back after public whippings 
Mamma Sawahh, Baba Sawahh 


Remember their thick black lashes 
Drift from the wind traveling down from Carmel  
Parents refuse to utter this to their children 
how much they miss that misery 
As Exiles we come to Ameerka as to never kneel for mercy 
As Exiles we sell liquor to young black men in Chicago 
As Exiles we search for dignity where 
Dignity is dead
Because Baba cannot find a job to feed his family
Other than in a liquor store
Because mama hates to let us watch sex on TV 
She does not know what to do now that he is dead

And their children carry our father’s name   
I—the skinny brown girl from chi-town will
carry the story of my ancestors 
Of Sawahh 
Exiles as we cross the Gulf of Akabah into 
this strange land of tong piercing
and individual dinner plates 
   
No Yasmeen wa’ Zaytoon
We will be buried underneath the fig trees in Ramoun 
As we Palestinians will return home 
Dead as they like us
Dina Omar is a fourth year undergraduate student at UC Berkeley.