Here’s a poet’s contribution to the post-conference reflection, an attempt to delve into the heart of occupation. Some of the women in this network will recognize their words embedded in it.

Blessings, Lee Sharkey Women in Black, Farmington, Maine, US

Injunctions

You may not like this. You may slam the door. Whole countries have done the same

Still, it whispers to you, breaks you out in sweat when you attempt to sleep. It whispers loud as gold your incoherence

It palpates the lovelorn body, which longs for it like heart for razor wire. But bodies are not enough

Enter the grounds of The Castle, your ID card at hand. You may be stopped at any moment. Prepare your excuses

You have forfeited the right to come here. You cannot claim the right to go. You may be here on Monday but not on Monday night

You may be here to plant; your children may not. You may be here to plant but not to harvest. The fruit falls down

Consider what it means, the price of not emerging, confined to the stone maze even wind cannot escape

Escape to the sunsets of your childhood. There you sat, gazing out on terraced hills, the stones your sheep, the tree roots drinking from your palm

But it’s time to move on to a land with two peoples, a land without a people with a land

You thirst, but you can’t drink here. The river flows by you on its way to Euphoria. The power flows by you on its way to Castle Keep

So. Slip on your shades. Say good morning with the accent of the oppressor. Simulate the gender the oppressor speaks

Or. You can go by tunnel. Maybe you can get to the hospital before we bleed to death. The baby is a time bomb

The boy soldier weeps behind his shield. The girl soldier films you. They stare bewildered in the glass

They build a wall around it. They call it their familiar. It says you have to choose between your mother and your father

The kids throw stones. Now. Organize your anger and set out over the disfigured landscape. We’ll talk about our fears and the unbearable burden of homelands