Because we keep having our stories told in other tongues and in other mouths. People keep telling our stories for us, and they frankly keep getting it wrong. The cost of that isn’t just a matter of semantics or ego. The cost of it is that you end up having entire swaths of people being dehumanized. The shifts that I’d like to see are around people interrogating what language they use when they describe certain communities.
I’ve been reading your work for years now, and I felt like The Moon that Turns You Back was grittier than your other collections. Would you agree?
Definitely. It’s probably something to do with getting older. The writing becomes more honest. With the first couple of poetry books, I was being inventive with language and finding coy ways to say a thing without really saying the thing. Now I’m less scared of just saying the thing. It’s also stylistically more experimental. I’m not someone that usually thinks about form. This is the first collection where I thought, I’m going to just play. It felt more inventive.
The subject of home is so present in your writing. What represents home for you today?
My daughter, honestly. There’s a home that you build in the bond between a caregiver or parent and a child. That is a place where you start thinking of [home] bi-directionally. I’m building a home in that way, but also, she’s building a home. She’s getting a home built through me and in me.
Are there people or places that you find community in?
So much of the community building I’ve been part of has been in people’s living rooms. It’s also been in spaces of poetry. Places of gathering, places of protest, places of teach-ins, and places of education have felt communal and heart-lifting. This moment is really calling upon people to show up in different ways. For specific restaurant spots, there’s Ayat, Al Badawi, and Balady in New York City. In regard to storytellers, Cherien Dabis, Rama Duwaji, Zeina Hashem Beck, Sarah Aziza, and Darine Hotait.
How do you find joy during these challenging times?
So much of my joy these days has come from mothering. It also comes from community. The [book launch] reading was an example of that, or whenever there have been gatherings. It’s come in thinking about ways to show up and surround myself with people who genuinely care about liberatory practices. I have gotten a lot of joy (and guilt) in nesting activities and enveloping myself in my home and my space. I’m sure that’s connected with the fact that I’m watching so many people be dispossessed from their land and from their houses. It’s made me so aware of the things that I have.
How will you be in channeling that energy in the coming months?
I’m working on a memoir about the months leading up to my daughter’s birth. It’s going to be a look at fertility, motherhood, and lineage; what we pass on and what we inherit.
We’re also going to Dublin. I’ve always wanted to go. I’m just fascinated with the culture. There’s so much beautiful art and writing that’s come out of Ireland. Also, there’s a lot of solidarity between the Irish and Palestinian people. I’m excited to visit a place that’s been so unwavering in its support for Palestinian freedom and life.
