This time we fly one way
With no return flights, Gaza airport is so busy
Flight after flight
No departures, only arrivals
No not arrivals, returners
Not tourists, but tenants
Refugees with renourished roots reaching across the diaspora
Recoiling

This time is different
No 8-hour interrogation
The only question is where do we start
My family waves through the window as the bus to Ramallah bustles off
I won’t join them just yet
Mustafa rebuilt his home
So I start in Jerusalem
We sit for tea with mint picked from his garden
He had no room for a garden in the camp
Now he nurtures n3n3
Shadowed by dawali
Surrounded by kousa
Rocks reserved for slingshots and worn but young hands build a barrier for the soil
We walk to Bab al-3amood, enter the old city and hunt down m3mool

The city is different
Less packed
More people but no guns
Harder to walk but easier to breathe
No more conflict congested by alleged complication
This herd of black and white keffiyeh knows no shades of gray

Now to Beit Lehm with Mustafa
He still comes a lot, still gives tours
We play soccer on Shari3 Al-Khalil with Ali and Mohammed
Samer never liked soccer, but he eggs us on
We play with more room now, no wall now
Samer has nothing to lean against now
He can’t occupy the soldiers tower, no more towers 

Samer intervenes to settle disputes, no more soldiers officiating our matches with AR 15s
See this time is so different, our referee will not default to the red card
No more red cards
No more martyrs

I'm tired
We breathe heavy from running, not from gas
This time is different
Ali’s juice stand is nearby, lemon mint for me as we walk to Al Aida
Still a symbol of steadfastness
We look up at the key on the arch
Reach into our pockets
Feel the grooves on our own, and smile
We carry keys but we don’t lock our doors
Doors are always open
Porches populated with patient aunts and political uncles
Argheelah and bizar
Kids are running the streets
Playing tag 

Even their running is different

No more tanks, no more jeeps chasing them down
Kids run from kids
Scared of a friendly but competitive hand
Fear is fun now
Protests turned into potlucks
Checkpoints to chanafa stands
Prisons to playgrounds
Young to old we swing and slide, no longer are we swings and slides in a fascist playground 

Even the clouds are different this time
Further away this time
We look up to them, no longer suffocating through them
Made of water from the Galilee, not of gas from American shells

I go home, back to al-Bireh
In America I go on google maps at night - street view
Roaming roads I hope to walk on next time
Frustrated when the arrow disappears, I want to see where the road ends

Learning these roads because my time would be limited
This time is different
No visa
No limits
We have hawiya this time
We have 7reeya this time 

No more nights on street view
I’m here
A short stroll from the bright lights and bustling Manara square
No more street view
No more maps
No return flight but my phone stays on airplane mode and I'm wandering
From al-Bireh to al-Tirah
From Manara square to Mandela's square
Past the bounds of the old wall
I keep going and I’m lost
And it’s dark
This is where the arrow ended
No more road
Old frustrations replaced with fear but fear is fun now
No maps
No rush
No visa or occupation to make me leave 

Just as I dreamed

My feet sink into the soil, anchored with the strength of an olive tree
I flow down the winding trails like viscous Qatir filling every kataifi crevice in a slice of kunafa

Just as I dreamed

I’m lost...
In Palestine, with a lifetime to find my way
And I won’t leave this time
I’ll dance above it or lay below it, but I won’t leave
This time is different.