Sonia Nettnin Poem: It's Raining Olives
It’s Raining Olives
By Sonia Nettnin
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.
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