The courage to complicate and transform the stories we've received
Thank you for this essay, Lauren. I saw these things in the West Bank, too, in 2007. I wrote a poem about how I felt ...
"At the Refugee Camp"
It follows me up the steep hillside
In sidelong glances
From dark, sullen eyes
And in the clamor of children
Who throw rocks sharp with pain.
It curls its way through narrow alleys
With haphazard houses
That climb hopefully
To the freedom of the sky
Without foundations to support them.
It pulls tightly against my tourist armor
Of backpack, camera, and tennis shoes,
Squeezing my throat and stealing my breath
As I slip down gravel slopes
In my hurry to elude it—
The evil done on my behalf.
Oh Anne, what a poem. Took my breath away. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for bearing witness.
Thank you for this essay, Lauren. I saw these things in the West Bank, too, in 2007. I wrote a poem about how I felt ...
"At the Refugee Camp"
It follows me up the steep hillside
In sidelong glances
From dark, sullen eyes
And in the clamor of children
Who throw rocks sharp with pain.
It curls its way through narrow alleys
With haphazard houses
That climb hopefully
To the freedom of the sky
Without foundations to support them.
It pulls tightly against my tourist armor
Of backpack, camera, and tennis shoes,
Squeezing my throat and stealing my breath
As I slip down gravel slopes
In my hurry to elude it—
The evil done on my behalf.
Oh Anne, what a poem. Took my breath away. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for bearing witness.