"House, Not Home" by Laila Shikaki

House, Not Home

house, not home, I enter on my Google maps location.
I save “work,” “ice cream place,” that sushi place, and “Arab stores.”
I have a chiropractor and a mailbox and three library cards
yet it’s house and not home
here in New York City.
home is where I hear my language
where my mama and baba are.
home is where I sleep happy
I wake up happy
and I eat happy
and I am happy
there.
here in New York City
I found a frown line
intact
new, yet resilient.
I resist this city, while I love aspects of it
this line stays put, and I see it when I wake up.
wijihi ma bidhak la r’eef il khobez
I hear the traditional saying of a face that does not even smile
for hot bread.
in Palestine
in Atara, where I live
lived,
my face hurt from smiles.
my students laugh in classrooms, and we talk
in corridors, in my office, online.
here, I wake up
frowning, and I struggle
because NYC is NYC, for God’s sake
but my Palestine calls me.
she speaks to me in lines of poetry
she checks how my dissertation is going
about her, I reassure.
she forgives my absence
as do my family and friends.
my students ask which courses I will teach
next summer.
Palestine forgives, promising it’ll be there
but here I ache.
in this house, on this table
I finally
write
and yearn for
home.

Laila Shikaki

Laila Shikaki is a 32-year-old poet from Palestine. At the age of six, she decided that she would grow up to be a teacher. At the age of 26, she realized that poetry was her calling. Since 2016, Laila has been pursuing a PhD in English literature at St. John's University in New York City, where she focuses on Arab autobiography and exile.

Photo Credit: Staff