Arab Work - A poem

From which thread will be woven the demonstration banner
of Dir Hana's textile workers.
In the scratch canals along the palms a drop of sweat rows
like a slave boat toward the Bay of Scars in the fingernails.
I recall my mother's first years in this country.
A new immigrant sits in the sewing machine room of the "Rekem" factory.
Her brows furrowed like a bulb of yarn,
the thimble is the war helmet and the needle sword pierces the fabric's belly
out of which were sewn holiday clothes,
workers' overalls
and the handkerchief of a tear.