...I halt, look around--wait.
"Why have I not been stopped...
...by a 7aris or Palestinian cop?"
Shrugging my shoulders, I proceed without a care...
...ready to find out if he really has a pair.
I sprint stealthily down the lamp-lit path directly to the beige doors...
...I pause, just a centi before.
But it is not for fear or thought or second-guess...
...I am ready to put him to the test.
And with the spirits of Palestinian shuhada' at my back...
...I fling the gates open with strength that makes them crack.
But it doesn't startle Abu Mazen who is sitting on a money sack.
"You," I whisper. "YOU!" I shout...
...And I grab my 7andala necklace to clear my mind, which has begun to cloud.
I walk with a forward lean and fury...
...knowing that the shuhada' are on my side; my jury.
"You have sold your people for that wretched green..."
...I simultaneously wonder why I haven't yet been arrested for starting this scene (??).
I point my middle finger at him as I approach...
...because he doesn't deserve the dignity of a tashahud index finger reproach.
"You dress your son--not Mazen, the other one--in the latest American fashion...
...I've seen him at ZAN, peering at the girls with his Nike cap on."
"And in your other pocket are the shekels and pennies from your Israeli and American masters...
...In that pocket is your reservation to dine with those bastards..."
"...on the flesh and the bones and the blood of Palestinians..."
"....to gorge your fat bellies fatter on the marrow of dead millions."
A centi now separates me from Abu M...
...but not a flinch; nor a breath; nor a warmth surrounds him.
"You..." I grit my teeth and snarl...
...but perplexed, see his face is gnarled.
"YOU!!!" I shout again, and spit in his eye...
...Nothing. No reaction. I say to myself, "Is that dye?"
I wipe the darkened saliva from his vapid face...
...and upon touch realize why 3abbas has no grace.
He is soulless and made of wood...
...not from Palestinian olive tree branches but from pines grown in an American hood.
I am overcome but not completely surprised...
"We have always known, haven't we? Geppetto has been puppeteering our plight. To this, Palestinians were wise."
I pull on my 7andala chain, and swing it left and right...
....pendulate once more and follow with a punch to the puppet's cheek; full of my might.
An alarm goes off: "Finally..sheeesh!" I sigh...
..."No security before because a puppet can't die."
I step backwards twice, then turn to see the Ramallah moon...
..."To think, your milky glow has even touched this fake bafoon."
I march quickly toward the exit and the Palestinian night air...
...Gliding on the breeze of the shuhada' still there.
I step out of that marrionette theater with my right foot first...
...grip the remnants of the entrance...
...and look back at the punctured pine-wood nothing, still propped up on its purse.
And knowing that, once Abu M is confirmed as khashab publicly...
...and the disgrace of Israel and America will be made for all to see...
...the Palestinians will rise and will finally be free.
I smile my first real smile, and shout with glee...
"La teez teezee! Inta mish ra'eesee!"
For the last time, I turn my back to the puppet, and, with 7andala, moon the oppressive and fucked-by-money regime...
To Palestine, I face forward and open my arms, and say, "I can stay here now..."
"...You are home for good now, Reem."
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