Sonia Nettnin Poem: It's Raining Olives

It’s Raining Olives

Desert land
never saw
downpour
olives. Trees
razed by bulldozers
fall
thud the ground,
so roots wombs
scorch in
heat. A fruit
shower of

Oil tears eyes. I
lie on trunk, scrape
hands grasp bark
burn skin
in the sun. Listen
to Palestine’s
raining olives.