‘Holding Up the Wall’ by Rasha Abdulhadi

Photo by Diana khwaelid on Unsplash

A train’s single searchlight opening one tunnel under the skin of the city and
the lights lining the way hooking upwards
keep a long watch, and
the men in helmets and reflective vests –
their faces dirty, three inches from the window, and thick –
are waiting for this run of the Blue line to measure out progress
against each man’s certain climb to the side-ledges:
these men, in silence,
bear the train on their stomachs
and the tunnel on their backs
and hold the walls
so that tonight we pass.

Wedged against a wall in a hallway
at the entry to apartment stairs, these bodies meet
breath against breath. These hands steady their
goodbye against a cold pane of glass, reach for
the door to secure a thin hold against
the howling night. The wind pushes and they push back,
holding it up against the wall.

Bottle shards of all colours and broken windows cut up
through cement and shed their histories
as they enter calloused hands and dusty feet.
Miles of glass and not a single piece whole.
Jugs of water or wine empty their mouths and come here to die in the desert.
Whoever shared a drink last night, whoever watched safely
from thirteen stories up the street below –
don’t think they don’t know
how even the objects choose sides and lick human life with sharp tongues.
Every morning on every front page there is a picture:
the people are always pointing, as an example,
holding up the wall for all the world to see.

From issue #17: spring/summer 2024

About the Author
Rasha Abdulhadi is calling on you – yes you, even as you read this – to renew your commitment to refusing and resisting genocide everywhere you find it. May your commitment to Palestinian liberation deepen your commitment to your own. May your exhaustion deepen your resolve and make you immovable. May we all be drawn irresistibly closer to refusals that are as spectacular as the violence waged against our peoples.