I throw the stones meant for me to walk upon
At the cats that roam the neighborhood in search of rats
To fight the war my fathers taught me
Mama beats the rug, then rolls it up behind the sofa
Against the summer’s fury
And watermelons lie cool as dogs beneath the bedroom cot
The skeleted key to the door where every grandfather sat
from “when I was a boy…”
Hangs yet on Tata’s shriveled neck aside her golden cross
And there she still sits
waiting on the balcony, head bent, readying her kussa
Outside, olive trees, gnarled, bowed and older than the door
Still put out pits for fire, wood to carve pilgrims’ crosses
And oil sold to America’s Middle Eastern grocers for the sons
Gone to Ahmerica
To take new blood as blonded brides
Swim in deep cool pools
And learn to dream in English
There they teach their Walt Disney’d children dipping pita into hummus
And olive’s oil pooled with the taste of “When I was a boy…”
When I am 17, I too will go as the others have--
Packing my suitcase with the olives and the oil that I will miss
Kiss my mother and hug my father
To find the dream -- a chocolate and coca-cola filled life
Until alblad, back home, has emptied of us all
Author Bio:
Kelly Jadon is a graduate of Spring Arbor University and holds a degree in English with a focus on poetry. She is a teacher, poet and collage artist. One focus of her writing has been on the Christians of the Middle East, a relatively unknown minority. She also writes the syndicated column "Hometown Heroes" which publishes nationally online and locally in newspapers and magazines. Kelly has recently written a book of post-modern poetry, soon to be published.
At the cats that roam the neighborhood in search of rats
To fight the war my fathers taught me
Mama beats the rug, then rolls it up behind the sofa
Against the summer’s fury
And watermelons lie cool as dogs beneath the bedroom cot
The skeleted key to the door where every grandfather sat
from “when I was a boy…”
Hangs yet on Tata’s shriveled neck aside her golden cross
And there she still sits
waiting on the balcony, head bent, readying her kussa
Outside, olive trees, gnarled, bowed and older than the door
Still put out pits for fire, wood to carve pilgrims’ crosses
And oil sold to America’s Middle Eastern grocers for the sons
Gone to Ahmerica
To take new blood as blonded brides
Swim in deep cool pools
And learn to dream in English
There they teach their Walt Disney’d children dipping pita into hummus
And olive’s oil pooled with the taste of “When I was a boy…”
When I am 17, I too will go as the others have--
Packing my suitcase with the olives and the oil that I will miss
Kiss my mother and hug my father
To find the dream -- a chocolate and coca-cola filled life
Until alblad, back home, has emptied of us all
Author Bio:
Kelly Jadon is a graduate of Spring Arbor University and holds a degree in English with a focus on poetry. She is a teacher, poet and collage artist. One focus of her writing has been on the Christians of the Middle East, a relatively unknown minority. She also writes the syndicated column "Hometown Heroes" which publishes nationally online and locally in newspapers and magazines. Kelly has recently written a book of post-modern poetry, soon to be published.
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