Moving Towards Home

Moving Towards Home, by June Jordan

"Where is Abu Fadi," she wailed

"Who will bring me my loved one?"

The New York Times, 9-20-'82

I do not wish to speak about the bulldozer and the red dirt

Not quite covering all of the arms and legs

Nor do I wish to speak about the nightlong screams

That reached the observation posts where soldiers lounged about

Nor do I wish to speak about the woman who shoved her baby

Into the stranger's hands before she was led away

Nor do I wish to speak about the father whose sons were shot through the head

While they slit his own throat before the eyes of his wife

Nor do I wish to speak about the army that lit continuous flares into the darkness

So that the others could see the backs of their victims lined against the wall

Nor do I wish to speak about the piled up bodies and the stench that will not float

Nor do I wish to speak about the nurse again and again raped

Before they murdered her on the hospital floor

Nor do I wish to speak about the rattling bullets that did not halt on that keening trajectory

Nor do I wish to speak about the pounding on the doors and the breaking of windows

And the hauling of families into the world of the dead

I do not wish to speak about the bulldozer and the red dirt

Not quite covering all of the arms and legs

Because I do not wish to speak about unspeakable events

That must follow from those who dare to purify a people

Those who dare to exterminate a people

Those who dare to describe human beings as beasts with two legs

Those who dare to mop up, to tighten the noose, to step up the military pressure

To ring around civilian streets with tanks

And those who dare to close the universities, to abolish the press

To kill the elected representatives of the people who refuse to be purified

Those are the ones from whom we must redeem the words of our beginning

Because I need to speak about home

I need to speak about living room

Where the land is not bullied and beaten to a tombstone

I need to speak about living room

Where the talk will take place in my language

I need to speak about living room

Where my children will grow without horror

I need to speak about living room

Where the men of my family between the ages of six and 65

Are not marched into a roundup that leads to the grave

I need to talk about living room

Where I can sit without grief, without wailing aloud for my loved ones

Where I must not ask, "Where is Abu Fadi?"

Because he will be there beside me

I need to talk about living room

Because I need to talk about home

I was born a Black woman

And now I am become a Palestinian

Against the relentless laughter of evil

There is less and less living room

And where are my loved ones?

It is time to make our way home