The first night
Nighttime hippies, hip, old school styles. All red. All green. All white. All cardboard “Solidarity”, waving flags.
I’ve never felt at home anywhere really. Maybe sometimes. But this night was a dream. It was home. Tartines au zaatar. 1 lookoom per person. 1 famous singer of our very own rock alternative band. 3 languages right and left. Arabic, français, English. Puzzle à la libanaise.
Take you from the back. Excuse me but it’s the flag. Laugh in all the right places. Speak in a conversation, not mine to begin with.
Keep quiet. Keep to the sidewalks. Don’t block the streets. I thought Bassil was a drink. Oh! So did I! and smile. Aren’t you cold? No, I’m warm. I’m here alone. I don’t know the Lebanese community here.
Too much flash. Quiet! Hoorah! Sing an anthem. Smile with the eyes. We need organizers.
This is the Cedar. This is NYC. This is in solidarity. with Beirut. This is our country. Why didn’t my father give me the nationality? I don’t know.
Straighten the yellow raincoat. Wonder why I didn’t see Lebanon before last Christmas. Wish I was right there now. This is Lebanon. I am Lebanese. You can’t take that away from me. You’ve already robbed me of so much.