Nieces and Nephews

In July, when Tsahal was bombing Gaza
and we marched, and there were flags and brawls
Lamis waited for me on the corner, smiling
in a lime-green sleeveless dress, not her daily jeans.
There were three cop cars parked in front of my building
and Lamis shouted giddily in Arabic
‘She’s the terrorist, here!’ I pinched her,
shushed her, laughing ‘Half those cops are Arabs!’
We went to a café, drank wine. She told me
her niece had finally been freed from prison
in Damascus. She lit up her cell phone
to show me the 19-year-old girl’s photo.
The second of her older sister’s children.

Naima’s Ismaël on the Corniche, sunlit
in a rust corduroy jacket, white shirt open
...