A tearing a part, a slow kiss
of goodbye
from the middle of the uncooked pie
spoiled by the British Mandate, raped by the Sultanate
the wounds so deep of undoing.
Unlatch the attach-
ment, the desperate needing,
care and feeding,
The Anxiety anxiously railing and grieving the severed hand.
These cast off limbs with phantom pains,
patterns of denial engrained. "If I maintain the dillusion, I'll be safe." I won't be rejected and alone.
Instead, sit with it. Question those perceptions.
Maybe even acceptance, enjoying the present.
Still my gut quakes with clots of shame.
Everything's changed.
I notice it, with compassion.
