Phalapoem editor, 5/11/25
Dear Olive Tree,
You have stood here longer than memory — your roots gripping the earth like an ancient prayer. I see your silver leaves shimmer in the morning sun, whispering to the wind that carries the scent of thyme and soil. Generations have rested beneath your shade, and in their silence, you have listened — to laughter, to songs of harvest, and to the soft cries of farewell.
You are not merely a tree; you are the heart of Palestine. In your gnarled trunk lives the story of endurance. Through drought and storm, through the ache of loss and the quiet hope of dawn, you remain — steadfast, patient, unyielding. Each olive you bear is a promise, a reminder that life continues even when the world forgets to notice.
I write to you as one writes to a beloved — with longing, with gratitude, with the ache of distance. For though borders may divide and time may scatter us, your roots remind me that we all grow from the same soil of memory. You are the keeper of our names, the witness to our seasons, the living symbol of what it means to belong.
And so, I begin these letters — not to mourn, but to remember; not to grieve, but to celebrate the love that endures as surely as your branches reach for the light.
With love,
Your Child of Palestine