Hajer, a new poetician, but an old old soul.


Hajer was kind enough to read to us in Arabic in our last Poetician get together in Dubai.
Even people who did not speak arabic were moved by her stance, he physicality,
her deep voice and husky tones, her clear strong eyes and rigid, courageous body. Here, I am copying one of her poems in English. Soon, I will post her Arabic one. Welcome, Hajer, hope you will always join us.

ps. She is Palestinian… am just sayin!

Definition of a Hand

It is your hand I remember
Not your face
The colour of your eyes
Or the deep cleft in your chin
But your hand
A marvel
That’s what I thought
Your left hand
The back of it
The dorsum
Its shape
The weight of it
I will take it with me to the grave
Left hand falling like thunder on left cheek
My left cheek
The imprint of your alma mater ring tattooed on it until now
A birth mark
Nails so white and clipped,
A well-taken-care of hand
Knuckles giving way to dark hairs like grass on a meadow
I could swear it happened
I slept there
But then your ring
your fraternity ring on my cheek
Right above the jaw
Where I bled for hours
Tells me I must be wrong
How could I have ever slept on barbed wires?

The palm I do not remember
No life lines or money lines or marriage lines
The palm always pointing away from me
A dismissing hand
The dorsum is another story
Blood vessels connecting with arteries
And the skin
A tight drum with a muting sound
I cannot hear with my left ear any longer
But I have the mark of your ring

The wrist
Right where the leather strap of your watch is a creamy circle
Is where my eyes stop
I unhinge it
Take it aside
Your hand
Palm up
And set fire to it

Not now
But I will
I will
All 27 bones
(a prehensile appendage for physical manipulation
according to Wikipedia)
Physical manipulation of the backward blow
Finger stretched so straight
I could have woven a shroud around them
A heinous sight

My mother was a weaver of lies
People looked at you
And envied her
She is dead now
My mother



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