The sea fish dish

The waiter
Brought out our dinner
The sea fish dish

He choked up
- This is the fish we import
From our own sea

After what he said
I looked at the fish’s eyes
Was it crying
Or was it just the grape sauce
The cook poured on it earlier

But then I heard
The words of the fish
Groaning the sound of the ocean
- Sir
I am a fish
Who is lucky
To come back to die
On the land of my ancestors

Please don’t hesitate
Pick up your fork and knife
Have a good meal
With my last luck.

A dinner at Beauty Inn, Ramallah, Palestine

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