rouzan
for rouzan al-najjar 1997-2018
When we heard you were shot,
wrapping bandages round generations
shattered into spirits of bone,
we said your name, rouzan,
and the fricative cut echoes in The Wall.
Heal, sister, in the frayed history of a flag's
broken spine climbing out of the sand.
The wounds on our hands opened out
like ghosts caught in prayer
as we washed along the bank
where salt etches states,
shrubs inch out of a
limestone occupation,
seaweed curves in Qur'anic verses.
Then, just before sunfall,
our grandmothers placed their palms
in yours, rouzan, rouzan
until our singing, aching blood
left patterns on the streets,
and our hands released your memory
like birds with sewn up wings.