For Darwish

I wrote this poem today in memory of Mahmoud Darwish, a Palestinian poet of great influence and import. I'm sorry I never got to meet the man. He died today of complications during recovery from heart surgery.

I invite you
to stand inside the visiting room
of my life
to
smell the scent of the dirt that holds the roots of jasmine
the flower
to smell
the coffee brewing in the kitchen
strong, bitter, sweet
cardamom and sugar

I invite you
to dine with the ghosts there
all the poets
of an age gone by
breeze
is a breath
bone-chilling

listen
for the quiet keening
coming in through the shutters
as sun sets
on another shadowed, haloed day
these clouds you see gathered
they are dreams
resting out of reach

remind me who i am
as you
tell the stories of struggle
of a people
older than the dirt
that settles
on the concrete and rebar
of a thousand refugee camps

come have coffee at my table
and sing the old songs
the Jahili poetry
reminding us that
we had stories
before this one
we had stories
long before this one

the blood of my heart
spills on the soil
and feeds the fig trees
that have forgotten
not to grow