The seamstress's daughter

I am Seron the Armenian, the agent of humiliation in the desert. My memory holds only the ages of wandering, degradation, decay, and death. My body reeks only of semen, graves, pus, and clotted blood. I am the corpse born of a corpse: to whom shall I entrust my remains, which multiply in places? I am Maysan the Palestinian, daughter of the sun-gilded earth, possessor of the eye that resists sorrow. I will not surrender the keys to the bottle; they will regret it, they will not be free, until I witness the return to the land. Jamila the Syrian, the gentle globe, I raise my blood in the faceless night to be an ember that burns to destroy it. Let the sky bleed for me, seek me beneath the clouds, and stretch me in the veins of water so that I may complete. I am the Armenian, the Palestinian, the Lebanese, the Syrian. I am the grandmother, the mother, the daughter, and the granddaughter. I am the womb of the worm-eaten, the circulatory system that began with suicide and ended with suicide. How many deaths must I count, how many lives must I mourn before I am worthy of the light? I am Seron the Armenian, the agent of humiliation in the desert. My memory holds only eras of wandering, humiliation, decay, and death. My body reeks only of semen, graves, pus, and clotted blood. I am the corpse born of a corpse: to whom shall I surrender my remains, which multiply in these places?

I am Maysan, a Palestinian, a daughter of this sunny land, steadfast in the face of oppression. I will not surrender the keys to our homes, I will not close the doors, and I will not leave until I witness the return to the land.

I am Shireen, the Lebanese woman. I drink the ruin and pain of Lebanon, so that the moon may shine again over its mountains, preventing its white flesh from being disfigured by wounds or humiliation.

I am Jamila, the Syrian, the guardian angel. I raise my blood against the night, a burning ember to scorch the murderer's hand. Throw the sky upon me, keep me safe beneath eternal gray clouds, and let me flow in the veins of water, so that I may rain down.

I am Armenian, Palestinian, Lebanese, and Syrian. I am grandmother, mother, daughter, and granddaughter. I am the violated womb, the cycle that began with suicide and ended with suicide.

I am the woman who loves... How many deaths must I count, and how many lives must I grieve for before I can see the light?