He is carrying her
covered in ash
eyes still open
lying on a hospital table
in bright neon
looking up
but never seeing anything,
he kisses her face
holds her head
disarray of hair
black, thick
aged by a missile
a coward tank
the houses of rubble surround
demolition from above
but when we pray the sky is ours
to hold palms facing upwards
begging for mercy
demanding revenge
the expanse of a liberty
to reach for but never touch.
Lifelessness
so abundant here
Gaza
they are killing you
little children’s feet
are sticking out of white sheets
ravaged open for a camera
to disturb peace
to show everyone
how small this little girl is
how her woollen sweater
chosen for warmth now holds
no heartbeat
not even blood
from above it came
the crushing.
A father squats in the corner
wall behind him peeling
his daughters
three, five, seven, dead
she says
“May God give you others”
to die? To be greyed
and ashen
and limp?
Her eyes are still open
but they see nothing
they never knew
freedom
only filthy rags and plastic bags
a glory army meters away
human cages
children’s fingers always grey
faces smudged with ash
and winter
small bodies aged by the shades
of unrestrained war.
Gaza
I have wept.
Useless.
I have forgotten.
The shame
of everyday complaints
compared to
Gaza
I am doing nothing
and most of me doesn’t want to know
doesn’t want to see
screams of the suppressed
innocence drained
Gaza I died today
but you are living in hell
and I wonder when all of it will end.
December 14, 2009