The Phone Call

The phone is on fire,
my cousin’s spirit in flames
as she tells me
about Dar Al-Kalima
an occupied school, pre-K to 10th grade:

Even

Nothing is even, even this line
I am writing, even this line I am waiting in,
waiting for permission to enter
the country, the house, the room.

Jenin

A night without a blanket, a blanket
belonging to someone else, someone
else living in our homes.
All I want is the quietness of blame to leave