Poems for Gaza. Over and over again.
Poems for Gaza. Over and over again.
KISSING CHILDREN GOODBYE
As long as my lips still touch you
there is warmth between us
and you are still here. You are still here.
Let time stop now while you are still here.
Please time stop now, time stop, not
go backwards, that is too much too ask,
but not one moment more from now,
I beg, with all I am and I have
I beg, not one more instant from now,
I am too small for this, I am not strong enough,
I tried to stand up just now but I
could not, I could not, I have no body,
I am nothing but what of my body is still
touching you, my lips on you,
my hands on your body that lifted you
and held you in the world, in the world forever,
for all of time in the world but now
for never, for never again but not yet,
not just yet, I’m still here,
I will not give you up, let time be crushed
and die, let the world be crushed and die,
let this be death, let this be death
and where you are going be life,
my heart is such a tiny thing
but I will drown in it, let sunlight and moonlight
drown in my heart, all I asked
of the world was to keep my promises to you,
to keep my promises to you,
to keep my promises to you,
let the world be broken for breaking that,
let the world stop and not go on
while you are still here and still have warmth
with me, from me, with me, from me,
you were not brought by some angel,
you were brought into being by my heart and my flesh,
I searched long and hard to find you
and you built my heart in return,
you carried my heart, you kept me alive
in this world, you kept me in this world,
you still do, I'm still here,
you still do, you’re still here,
you were not struck down by an accident,
you were not struck away by an earthquake
or sightless microbes, you were struck down
by creatures who could have chosen not to,
let this come to them, and more,
let them come to what they have earned
but I will forgo what they deserve,
let them live and die in peace
if in return, for one small moment,
for one more smallest of instants you
will stay, not go, not go, please,
this is not supposed to happen, this is not
what’s meant, you are meant to outlive me,
you are meant to outlive us, not go like this,
please, I know you can’t choose, but please,
don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t,
I don’t know if holding you keeps you here
but I know when I stop you will go and be gone,
when I stop you will go and this is that instant,
this now this now is when you are gone,
let this not be, let the universe end
before the moment after this now
when someone lets go. And stands. And somehow
steps away. Or is pulled away. To stand
with so many others standing for their own
struck down in the street or in their homes
or playing in the sand. Stand
in the hospital room with lights flickering
because the generator is running out
and doctors and nurses work without sleep
and without the medicines that aren’t allowed in.
I don’t know who that person is
who will stand up any moment now
and step away and keep on living
when you are not living in the world any more.
That person will not be me.
I wish that person well.
I wish that person love
and loving care of everyone still
alive in the world.
That person will have to be stronger than me.
I am not able to do any other
than stay in this one true place. With you.
For all time and not time with you.
The world truly the heart of the world
has come to an end
and you have outlived me after all.
July 2014
GAZA 2009
The sand is frozen.
Each particle fixed in place.
Salt sparkles on solid waves
that lift and crest unmoving and do not
reach the frozen shoreline.
Inland broken weeds stand bent,
unfalling undying leaning on air.
Jagged stones hang unsupported
from broken walls,
gravity helpless.
Ragged puddles of red are mirrors
or ponds that do not soak or dry up.
A bearded man has dropped his cane
which hovers suspended in mid fall
while he stares bewildered at a puncture in his side.
A mother’s crooked hand clutches
at part of her child.
Faces stare without seeing
at billowing pillars of smoke captured
mid dance, black haze in solid space.
In all directions flashes of light
bloom white like baubles of ice
that melt and shatter flesh and metal
in plumes surrounding their still white burning
burning that never stops burning
never not ever burning forever
stronger than time, future and past
nothing but clustered rubble now,
parts slashed off from hearts in pain
forever, nothing in time but this,
no decade or epoch can stop this white fire,
this frozen moment will never disappear,
only we disappear and even then
we leave it behind intact.
From far away in black space
above the frozen blue of the sky
this frozen contortion of torture looks
like nothing. The masses of land look calm.
From farther away even the land
is too small to see. Smaller still
the weeds and puddles and grains of sand
that nothing in time can change.
January 2009
WHAT DIED
all the animals in the Gaza City Zoo
a large number of orange trees and other plants
an as yet uncounted number of children women and men
a never to be counted number of insects and reptiles
parts of many bodies
love in many hearts
resistance, or so some hoped
the moral authority of the invaders
humanity
belief in a future
the ability to rebuild
the willingness to live with invaders
the chance for a tranquil contented life
the chance for a life without upheaval
more children women and men
the chance for us to have stopped it
January 2009
WHITE PHOSPHORUS
Like napalm, it burns away falsehood.
The skin of the victim peels off to reveal
the heart and imagination of
the attacker, the perpetrator, the invader.
The hot white smoke which falls toward the ground
with its garlic smell does not obscure
the eye-piercing white of the truth.
The drowning of living organs in pain,
the scream-stretched throats and blackened eyes,
the crushed homes, the incinerated children
all were alive in the hearts of the attackers
before they were brought to being on earth.
The goal of the invaders’ hearts was to crush
the hearts of the people invaded, and their bodies
if they didn’t submit. The burning of bodies
was imagined, was planned, was calculated.
The invaders danced and sang when their plan
manifested itself on flesh.
The searing and penetrating of flesh
was no regret, no accident,
but a lure, a wish, a state of mind,
an imagination of power, a conviction,
a justification of itself, a need
which ignites when exposed to the air we breathe
and burns without stopping till the oxygen stops
or it burns itself away to nothing.
It burns beyond the victim to expose
the root and bone of the ones who use it
and shows the thoughts you thought were secret
and leaves your heart naked at last
so all can see what has always lived there
waiting to burn and be burned and burn
until all the truths of your heart come to be
and you alone of all the world
are safe, are safe, are safe,
surrounded by flame.
January 2009
OCCUPATION
The war continues silent while we sleep.
It is called occupation, and is no news.
While we dream of floating and corridors
our automatic weapons are aimed at children
who if they grow up will grow up learning
obedience means surrender.
While we breathe the deep soft breath of sleep,
our soldiers prod the intimate places
of those we defeat each day, each day.
While our genitals moisten and thicken
at regular intervals though the night,
our victory hovers with whirling blades
and marching feet to press its barriers
inward until the defeated have
no victory left, no triumph, no private
place that does not acknowledge
our ownership over their freedom.
With occupation, we win in our sleep.
In our sleep the checkpoints make them wait
and by their waiting we win.
In our sleep the curfew makes them huddle
and by their huddle we win.
In our sleep the fathers are beaten and cowed
and by their beating we win.
We sleep, we win, they lose, they lose,
the weapons and tools we loose in our sleep
will grind them down, will grind them down,
they break, they kneel, but still our tools
will rasp and file and grate and scrape
until they are faceless, until they are blades.
And when their edges are sharp enough
they will turn on us; and finally then,
too late, we may wake.
2007