for tala/ and gaza

Moving Towards Home
by June Jordan

"Where is Abu Fadi," she wailed.
"Who will bring me my loved one?"
{{{{New York Times, 9/20/82(after the 1982 Phalangist/Israeli Massacre of Palestinian Refugees in Sabra and Shatila)}}}}


I do not wish to speak about
the bulldozer and thered dirt
not quite covering all of the arms and legs

Nor do I wish to speak about the nightlong screams
that reached
the observation posts where soldiers lounged about

Nor do I wish to speak about the woman
who shoved her baby
into the stranger's hands before she was led away
Nor do I wish to speak about the father whose sons
were shot
through the head while they slit his own throat beforethe eyes
of his wife

Nor do I wish to speak about the army that lit continuous
flares into the darkness so that others could see
the backs of their victims lined against the wall
Nor do I wish to speak about the piled up bodies and
the stenchthat will not float
Nor do I wish to speak about the nurse again andagain raped
before they murdered her on the hospital floor

Nor do I wish to speak about the rattling bullets
thatdid nothalt on that keening trajectory
Nor do I wish to speak about the pounding on thedoors
andthe breaking of windows and the hauling of families
intothe world of the dead

I do not wish to speak about the bulldozer
and thered dirt
not quite covering all of the arms and legs
because I do not wish to speak about unspeakable events
that must follow from those who dare"to purify" a people
those who dare"to exterminate" a people
those who dareto describe human beings as "beasts with two legs"
those who dare"to mop up"
"to tighten the noose"
"to step up the military pressure"
"to ring around" civilian streets with tanks
those who dareto close the universities
to abolish the press
to kill the elected representatives
of the people who refuse to be purified

those are the ones from whom we must redeem
the words of our beginning
because I need to speak about home

I need to speak about living room
where the land is not bullied and beaten into
a tombstone
I need to speak about living room
where the talk will take place in my language
I need to speak about living room
where my children will grow without horror
I need to speak about living room where the men
of my family between the ages of six and sixty-fiveare notmarched
into a roundup that leads to the grave
I need to talk about living room
where I can sit without grief without wailing aloudfor my loved ones
where I must not ask where is Abu Fadi
because he will be there beside me

I need to talk about living room
because I need to talk about home
I was born a Black woman
and nowI am become a Palestinian

against the relentless laughter of evil
there is less and less living roomand where are my loved ones?
It is time to make our way home.