CURFEW
Poem by Ibtisam Barakat

Our city is a cell,
children's faces
are replacing
flower pots on
window sills. . .
and we are waiting. . .
From our window bars
of boredom
we enter a spit race --
the one whose spit
reaches farther
is freer. . .
We look to the sky
squint our questions.
We turn the sun into a kite
hold it with a ray
til it is torn up
inside the horizon . . .
And the light is
peeled off the ground
a page in a bedtime story
we do not understand . . .
Our questions remain
a yeast
inside our chests
rising . . .

Note: Curfew poem refers to military curfew that Palestinian cities are placed under many times during the year. It is not like the curfew for a person to be home at a certain time. It is a curfew for whole cities, and it lasts for days or weeks sometimes, no one can go to school, no one can go to work, and no one can go outside of the house at all, except for an hour or two when the army decides to let them. It is especially hard on children who have small homes and very few toys like many refugee children.  I once was one of those children. I think freedom is necessary every hour of our lives. . This poem is published by "Universe of Poetry.com" and in Poets for Palestine anthology.