| A Poem for Gaza |
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| Remi - Poems | |
| Written by Remi Kanazi | |
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I never knew death until I saw the bombing of a refugee camp craters filled with dismembered legs and splattered torsos but no sign of a face
I never understood pain until a seven-year-old girl clutched my hand stared up at me with soft brown eyes waiting for answers
I didn’t have any I had muted breath and dry pens in my back pocket that couldn’t fill pages of understanding or resolution
in her other hand she held a key to her grandmother’s house but I couldn’t unlock the cell that caged her older brothers they said: we slingshot dreams so the other side will feel our father’s presence!
a craftsman built homes in areas where no one was building
when he fell silence
a .50 caliber bullet tore through his neck shredding his vocal cords too close to the wall his hammer must have been a weapon he must have been a weapon encroaching on settlement hills and demographics
so his daughter studies mathematics
seven explosions times eight bodies equals four congressional resolutions
seven Apache helicopters times eight Palestinian villages equals silence and a second Nakba
our birthrate minus their birthrate equals one sea and 400 villages re-erected
one state plus two peoples …and she can’t stop crying
never knew revolution or the proper equation tears at the paper with her fingertips searching for answers but only has teachers looks up to the sky to see Stars of David demolishing squalor with Hellfire missiles
she thinks back words and memories of his last hug before he turned and fell now she pumps dirty water from wells while settlements divide and conquer and her father’s killer sits beachfront with European vernacular
this is our land!, she said she’s seven years old this is our land! she doesn’t need history books or a schoolroom teacher she has these walls this sky her refugee camp
she doesn’t know the proper equation but she sees my dry pens no longer waiting for my answers just holding her grandmother’s key searching for ink
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