2024-11-10
by
Eleanor Goldfield
when the Jews were expelled
from the Arabized Spain of dhimmi
where promises were nailed to a vicious cross
when my ancestors were expelled from Spain
they took their keys
hung them around their necks, hid them in pockets
they would come back
those who could
pulsed like blood pouring from open veins
out of their bodies –
their cities, out of their libraries, their gardens, their synagogues
tumbled towards docks,
in August 1492 -
sails of genocide unfurled
next to boats crowded with shattered souls
when these Jews were expelled from Spain
with keys round their necks
some of them wandered to Palestine
descendants of the caliphate, the taifas
the Arab world felt just about
home?
Spanish keys in Palestine
keys that belong to doors that were long ago bulldozed,
or turned into something less offensive, less Jewish.
Spanish keys in Palestine
far from a home that doesn't exist anymore
a home that was pressed into palms, into pockets
into memory
into marrow
into diaspora
strangers wandering Jerusalem speaking ladino – a Spanish in Hebrew that almost no one speaks today
perhaps because it confirms our strange multitudes
like the jagged shoulders and cuts of keys
shapes unique
not meant for a colonialist cast
Palestinian keys
around necks
pressed into palms, into pockets
waiting to open doors
most of which
were long ago bulldozed
or turned into something less offensive, less Palestinian.
Palestinian keys - home
Nakba – tumbling towards genocide
keys that play repeat and like
pianos at crescendo
which keys you hold, release
make a beat
repeat
Spanish keys in Palestine
does it end, if it ends
how far back must we apologize
how far back can we make amends
to homes that don't exist anymore
to lives that never lived or not enough
to libraries burned
to languages lost
to cities built over cities over cities
from Carthage to Toledo to Jaffa to Guanahani
will the trauma ever rest -
in memory
in marrow
can homeless keys
find peace
I don't have our Spanish keys
just the imprint, the echo
and one day, I dream
I’ll hold my hand to the earth
in a free Palestine
perhaps I'll find the words,
of the strangers who fled here
with home in pockets, in palms
who spoke in a language that hardly anyone speaks
anymore
smile and nod to the ancestors who broken rushed to docks
you can rest now in my bones
with jagged cuts and shoulders
the shapes you gave to me
born from multitudes
from alchemists
who made home
from memory and marrow
before and beyond borders and walls, checkpoints, and nation-states
I’ll make an offering of whatever I can
A promise, an apology, a prayer?
in the dust of bulldozed homes
by those
too much like me, too different
who unfurled sails of genocide
on docks they carried in their bones
a colonialist cast
a fixed and flat -
flimsy footnote of the past -
unworthy of these Spanish keys
unworthy of Palestine.
* artwork featured is by Khalil Khalidy. The print is for sale at Red Emma's in Baltimore throughout the month of November, 2024. More information at Eleanor's instagram @radicaleleanor