Complicit     

There’s the village my friend calls 
un lieu-dit or also called place,
a village without administration.
Think how Hamas blew a hole 
in the wall dividing 
Egypt from Gaza, so donkeys and bicycles 
could finally cart back bags of flour, cases of Coca-Cola,
chocolate and antacid. This is an opening,
love. It calls for defiance, and every 
last stubborn cell of yours
is up for the fight—that’s what I think. And you?
I know you like the teakettle just so 
on the burner. Here, look: Ala Shawa 
and his wife, Hana, walking through the dirt 
into Egypt, her hair fashionably streaked.
Adel al-Mighraky, smoking a Malimbo,
We were like birds in a cage. This is giddiness,
and mayhem. Don’t think about it too hard. 
And please don’t seal the breach.