She misses her home
where olive trees grow,
where her grandmother sits alone.
And she can no longer return
to see her glow.
The people around her
will never quite know
what it means to be far,
yet still ache
like you’re in the middle of it all.
The children of Gaza are still there,
smiling, playing,
until their hearts can no longer bear.
They listen to the cries,
wishing for sunrise,
for their families
to be whole again,
like it once was.
How can I eat
when they cannot?
One by one,
they are being shot.
But I carry their names
in the rhythm of my chest.
I will not rest
not while they suffer,
not while the world forgets.
I will not go quiet.
I will not let them win.
I remember my grandmother
with my patience running thin.
And though the world
may act oblivious
I remain a witness.
Featured Image Source: Catherine Lanctot
