The Motherland

by J.H. Riggs

** The poet wrote this poem for The Good Listening Project (www.goodlistening.org). She conducted a poetry listening session for an Ann Arbor resident at the Ann Arbor District Library in March 2024, which resulted in the creation of this poem.

This morning, I made a cake,
With a homemade marmalade from orange trees in Jordan,
And olive oil from the West Bank.

And my thoughts drift to my mother and of home.

To the picture of her,
Standing lovingly next to our clementine tree,
Blooming sweetly outside my childhood bedroom,
I can smell the light, citrus fragrance from its crisp, white flowers.

As a child I always dreamt of running away,
To foreign lands and faraway places,
And it was always my mother’s hands,
That would invariably “catch me” in my dreams,
Returning me begrudgingly to my family.

How ironic that now as an adult, all I want is more time?

To eat and be nourished by her cooking,
Of stuffed zucchini, eggplant, and spiced lamb,
And to be with her and my family.

You see, my mother is the heartbeat and pulse of our family,
She is the forcefield in which my aunts and cousins gravitate.

In four to five years, who will be left?
Will my mother be alive?

And I wonder how many mothers have died.
How many groves of olive and orange trees will be left standing?
How many farmers will be left?

How long will the genocide last?

I feel like a stranger in this country.
And I long to return to a place that may never exist again.

Because how I can call this place home?
How can I stay here, when they are destroying my home,
When they are destroying the Palestinian people?

 

The Origin Story of the Poem, “The Motherland”

“These days I am thinking more about death than life,” this poemee recounted. In this listening session, the poemee was reflecting on the mortality of her elderly mother alongside the current genocide taking place in Gaza.

As a Palestinian immigrant to the United States, the poemee was experiencing a period of deep mourning. She noted that it was hard to stay in the present moment. “How can I be expected to feel normal?” she shared. During this time, her thoughts were constantly returning to memories of her family and childhood.

The poemee shared that she is hoping to retire in the next five years, and she wonders whether her mother will be alive. How many of the people and places she loved will be left?

She reflected that her mother was the pulse or heartbeat of her family, and when her mother is gone who will take on that role?

Her thoughts and reflections of longing to spend time with her mother were juxtaposed against her questions of home. What is home to her? Where is her home?

She asked these questions thoughtfully in relation to the current death and demise of Gaza, which is the heartbeat, pulse, home, and motherland of the Palestinian people. She wondered how she could consider the United States her home when it is complicit in the destruction of the people of Palestine.

***

J.H. Riggs is a certified Listener Poet through The Good Listening Project, a nonprofit organization based in Washington, DC that believes good listening is healing. Listener poets hold “listening sessions” for people at hospitals, libraries, and other public spaces to share whatever is in the mind, with the belief that when thoughtful listeners hold space, people feel heard and understood, and the experience is often cathartic. After the listening session, the poet writes a custom poem based on the conversation that was exchanged. The listening session that resulted in this poem was conducted at the Ann Arbor District Library in March 2024.

***

This is an original poem, brought to you by Poet Tree Town, an Ann Arbor-based poetry-in-public initiative and celebration of local Washtenaw poets. Find out more about Poet Tree Town on Instagram and Facebook, or say hello at poettreetowna2@gmail.com.