Another Endless Road

"I will slog over this endless road to its end.
Until my heart stops, I will slog over this endless, endless road
with nothing to lose but the dust, what has died in me, and a row of palms
pointing toward what vanishes." --Mahmoud Darwish


sixpointed stars line
the streets of my childhood memories
cut from crude yellow felt and
sewn loosely on jackets or
spraypainted on the gray doors and shopfronts
of those who once lived
among them

i remember the early shock of
human cruelty how i
spent three days sobbing in
the dark of my room
wishing we'd blow ourselves up so
cockroaches could rule the world
instead

last week i saw the
same stars again
not yellow like sunlight but
painted crudely in black on
green metal doors and shopfronts in
a crowded muslim market to
proclaim the claimed right
to dispossess those who once lived
among them

i have burned this star
off my skin again and again
like one removes a jailhouse
tattoo scarring my flesh with
the ends of lit cigarettes
and acts of compassionate sacrifice
but still i taste the
bitter smell of humans
like bile at the back
of my throat
and no amount of prayer can
erase the stench of us