A Poet's View (Poem)

A Poet's View

1

Explosions settle

dust on the table,

the last of the bread

in orbit, saucers

overflowing with

black tea, stains spreading

from here to there and

a mother, crying

between screams. Her

child, motionless.

Beit Lahia was warned.

2

The children have no

room to run, no pitas

to calm their asking

for juice. No biscuits.

No mangoes to toss

like footballs. Olive

trees: splintered. Water

erupting old pipes.

Books - by Gibran and

Darwish and Shihab

 

Nye - floating past as

another shock wave

 

works its way through the

electrical grid.

 

Thirteen floors tumble

to garden level.

 

Drones yet whirred like flies.

 

3

 

Numbers. Begin with

one thousand four hundred

 

news-worthy names shared

world-wide. Not Beit Lahia's.

 

There, leaflets, like birds,

still fall from the sky,

 

where the cries of dogs

become lullabies;

 

pots and pans, rockets.

 

4

 

Stones or bombs:

what's the difference?

 

5

 

All going south.

 

____________________________________

 

This poem was inspired by poet Mosab Abu Toha’s essay in The New Yorker, “The View from My Window in Gaza,” October 20, 2023. Online: https://www.newyorker.com/news/the-weekend-essay/the-view-from-my-window-in-gaza