In a manner of speaking, these poems came immediately to me because they had existed in me, on the Palestinian carousel, for years: the dehumanization, the complicity, the silence, the disdain, and the process of attritional extermination. But also beauty, music, and desire had been living in me just as fully. The survivance. Palestinians are much more than a repository of wounds; portraying us as such can’t lead to much more than pity.
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