By Sa’ed Atshan

Dipping bread, fresh from the oven
Olives, from our garden, pressed to oil
Biting goat cheese
And chilled watermelon
Red, White, Green, and Black
Palestinian evening
On the balcony
Watching the sun set
As the minaret’s azan fills the air
Calling people to prayer

Jerusalem is so close
Yet so far

We can see
We can hear
We can taste
When can we touch?

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