Stand off at Gate 927

It is a beautiful sunny morning

At apartheid gate 927

The Israeli soldiers are listening to rock music

They are in their 20s

They have automatic weapons

Uniforms, walkie-talkies

Humvies, tanks

F16 fighter jets, a nuclear arsenal.

We are Palestinian farmers

With donkeys and tractors

With seed, fertilizer, and lunch in plastic bags

We are four Americans over fifty

With cameras, cell phones, and bottled water

We are Bedouin with sheep and goats and identity cards

We dismount from our donkeys and tractors

And wait

Wait long enough to see the falcon hunting,

To see the wild dog with the stolen chicken,

Wait to be admitted through the small gate

To the turnstile

Then into the concrete bunker

To wait at the counter, to show our passes,

To be released into a holding area

To go back through a sliding gate

To get back on our donkeys and tractors

To pass through the big gate

Opened only certain hours

On certain arbitrary days

To get onto our land – our own land –

On the other side of this abominable fence

That separates us from our fields

From our trees and fruit

From our grass, our rocks, and our graves

On the other side of this fence

That separates us from our brothers and sisters

We stand in the sun waiting two hours

On the side of this fence

That separates us from our livelihoods

On the side of the fence

That separates us

© brtaub – 02/08