YASSAR ARAFAT IS NO MORE

His Coma

A tide of blood
Behind his eyes.

Mouth filled
With stones.

The whirlwind.

Central nervous system intifada…

What you reap, Yassar.


His Wife

Suhar!

He’s yours.

Weave your grief,
Guard the cocoon,
Protect the husk,
Even as his gangsters
Fly to his side.


His Funeral

Cairo

Under the tent

Suits and dishdasha

Waiting…kissing…plotting

While in the sun

Lies Yassar,

Rotting.


Ramallah

A roiling mob
And shooting,
Always shooting.

Yassar’s coffin
Pitching.

A storm of noise.

And then,

Rubble.