A Road for Loss by Maya Abu Al-Hayyat
A Road for Loss
Maya Abu Al-Hayyat
Translated by Fady JoudahLike the rest of you,
I thought of escape.
But I have a fear of flying,
a phobia of congested bridges
and traffic accidents,
of learning a new language.
My plan’s for a simple getaway,
a small departure:
pack my children in a suitcase
and to a new place we go.
Directions confuse me:
there’s no forest in this city,
no desert either.
Do you know a road for loss
that doesn’t end
in a settlement?
I thought of befriending animals,
the adorable type, as substitutes
for my children’s electronic toys.
And before anyone sacrifices another,
I want a place for getting lost.
My children will grow,
their questions will multiply,
and I don’t tell lies,
but teachers distort my words.
I don’t hold grudges,
but neighbors are always nosy.
I don’t reproach,
but enemies kill.
My children grow older,
and no one’s thought yet
to broadcast the last news hour,
shut down religious channels,
seal school roofs and walls,
end torture.
I don’t dare to speak.
Whatever I speak of happens.
I don’t want to speak.
I’d rather be lost.
MARGINALIA
1.
The world has becomes impossible. I want to daydream about soft departures. But how dare I?
2.
Have you ever had to explain yourself again and again to people who aren’t really listening?
3.
I can’t count how many times I felt I’m already trespassing just for staying alive.
4.
I want to draw new borders around the lives we haven’t ruined yet. If there’s a road for loss that doesn’t end in violence, I want to walk it barefoot without needing permission.
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This poem appeared in You Can Be the Last Leaf by Maya Abu Al-Hayyat, published by Milkweed Editions, 2019. (Available on: Amazon • Bookshop)
DESCRIPTION
“Translated from the Arabic and introduced by Fady Joudah, You Can Be the Last Leaf draws on two decades of work to present the transcendent and timely US debut of Palestinian poet Maya Abu Al-Hayyat.
Art. Garlic. Taxis. Sleepy soldiers at checkpoints. The smell of trash on a winter street, before “our wild rosebush, neglected / by the gate, / blooms.” Lovers who don’t return, the possibility that you yourself might not return. Making beds. Cleaning up vomit. Reading recipes. In You Can Be the Last Leaf, these are the ordinary and profound—sometimes tragic, sometimes dreamy, sometimes almost frivolous—moments of life under Israeli occupation.
Here, private and public domains are inseparable. Desire, loss, and violence permeate the walls of the home, the borders of the mind. And yet that mind is full of its own fierce and funny voice, its own preoccupations and strangenesses. “It matters to me,” writes Abu Al-Hayyat, “what you’re thinking now / as you coerce your kids to sleep / in the middle of shelling”: whether it’s coming up with “plans / to solve the world’s problems,” plans that “eliminate longing from stories, remove exhaustion from groans,” or dreaming “of a war / that’s got no war in it,” or proclaiming that “I don’t believe in survival.”
In You Can Be the Last Leaf, Abu Al-Hayyat has created a richly textured portrait of Palestinian interiority—at once wry and romantic, worried and tenacious, and always singing itself.” (Source)
ABOUT MAYA ABU AL-HAYYAT
Maya Abu Al-Hayyat is a Beirut-born, Palestinian novelist and poet living in Jerusalem. She is the author of four collections of poems, including You Can Be the Last Leaf (Milkweed, 2022), four novels, including the latest, No One Knows His Blood Type (Dar Al-Adab, 2013); and numerous children’s stories, including The Blue Pool of Questions (Penny Candy Books, LLC, 2017). Her work has appeared in A Bird Is Not a Stone: An Anthology of Contemporary Palestinian Poetry (Freight Books, 2014).… (more)
Read more poems by Maya Abu Al-Hayyat • Find books by this poet on Amazon • Bookshop • Follow on Instagram • Facebook • Or view my library
ENDNOTES
- Read more translations by Fady Joudah • Or view more translated poems
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