yard sale / by Dahlia Dandashi

at the yard sale,

the foreigners eat our olives and wear our hamsa hands. we did not invite them.

mama! all my cereal boxes! have you seen them?
the man from next door is trying to eat my granola with some milk.

my hat! his daughter will sport it at the golf club. i think they're rich.

our stories! everything i ever wrote. all of jido's clothes. the bombs took it all. the fire stole it.

but it's mine mama! they're mine!

she says nothing is ours

except our land

and a sense of belonging.

but even those

are no longer ours.  

even the rubble 

will one day die

to be replaced by more of what was once ours

or what i see now

was actually never ours at all.