Shurouq Ibrahim
No Man’s Land
From the Collection: A Story of Jasmine
She left my brother in Ramallah.
His prematurely cracking voice rings in her ears like a bell
That summons at every hour.
She travels; she leaves her olive skin and
I become a foreign word.
He is the irresistible siren, and she –
The hypnotized imbecile treading through deceptive borders,
Inspected around the neck and chest by determined strange hands.
Her skin gently peels like Jaffa oranges stored in forgotten corners.
She covers her hair with the remnants of a worn-out flag and
She glorifies the green and red stains which paint the way to him.
She scans the earth for him in black with eyes blindfolded,
Never reaching for the washed-out map tucked in her bosom.
She says his breaths are a set of coordinates:
He is longitude. He is latitude.
His arms urge her forward to the land of olive oil dipped in thyme and
His legs lead her east of the Wall.
She hums Fayrouz as she trudges: ya habibi, my love.
She lifts her dress above her knees and
Molds herself into the holes of sky-high metal wires.
She recalls each of her travels,
Year after year for him,
Secretly planting pieces of herself each time.
This time a palm for you, this time a knee.
When the final piece is laid,
She inhales the familiar earth, heart peering at the Heavens.
He maims her thoughts and assembles his muffled cares
Into crystal-clear words she herself now wails.
And he slumbers in her occupied conscience,
And she does not mind, for he is her mind.
Shurouq Ibrahim is an Arab-American English instructor residing in Ohio. She holds an MA in 21st Century Literature. She has lived between the United States, England, and the West Bank, Palestine. She enjoys writing poetry and short stories. Her work is inspired by her everyday experiences as a female, Arab, hijabi, American, Muslim, Palestinian human - which is sometimes a lot of things to be all at once. Her focus is on the taboo in Arab and American culture including mental health, divorce, and domestic violence.