In a small bag.

Near the Central Bus Station with people coming and going. And standing.

She was hurt and died.

She Who is my mother.

Your mother.

“So countless are all sentient beings, and so many their births throughout time, that each at some point was your mother.”*

Poor One who left the small bag…

Such pain packed there…

-Sherry Ann (26 March 2011)**

*Joanna Macy quoting a Tibetan nun.    Joanna Macy with Norbert Gahbler. (2010). Pass It On: Five Stories That Can Change the World. Berkeley, CA: Parallax Press, p. 53.

**A bomb exploded from a small bag that was left near the Central Bus Station, West Jerusalem, on 23 March 2011. Click here, here, and here for more information.

Can I go?

I’m looking forward to home

Please wait.

Why did you come here?

When?

How?

Why?

Why?

Who sent you…

Can I go now…?

Not you.

Go!! Get out of here. Move away…

Please wait.

Who brought you here?

How could you afford to come here?

Why did you come…

We know. But WHY?

Can I go?

Go. Don’t ever come back.

Come back and see…

The freedom of this democracy.

Why did you come THAT way?

Can they go, please?

There…?

Where?

No. Not them. There.

You can go.

But, please wait here.

6.

Did you pack this?

What is this?

Here. Take your things.

But wait. Please.

Put this in that. Then, come here.

Go back.

Can they come, please?

Wait…

Who is it that you say that you are?

No. Not your name.

Where is your number?

Ah, but are you that person?

She is Palestinian.

Have you asked her name, perhaps?

Leave. Now.

No. Wait.

Orange stickers everywhere.

“You’re late.”

No. You cannot take that. Her. She stays.

There. Behind that line.

No moving allowed.

Actually. Move out.

Yes. Go. Away.

“May you go in peace and return in peace!”*

“Walk straight ahead to passport control.” – 5 Mar. 2011 – Photo: Sherry Ann

-Shock-

Who did they think I was?

What did they see?

Not me.

Who am I then?

No vest. Two backpacks, and a small booklet of pretty stamps. Canadian.

A small shell as keepsake.

A plastic star.

A marble of affirmation.

And coins clattering down to the corner of the grey tray. After the body search. Help me? She found my earring backing in the dust of the carpet.

What are your names? The 8 or more of you who tried to strip me bare?

You never asked mine.

I was, “Miss”.

And not Palestinian.

A ‘3’ last time. A ‘6’ this time. 6 is the highest security risk.

Palestinians: ‘6’ every time.

Read more here about this reality of the occupation.

*Actual greeting at the Zaytoun Checkpoint into East Jerusalem.