may, 2024

what is hope

to a mourning father

.

not the flesh

unfolding hot and dark red

where your smile had beamed

under the evening sun

.

not the 2000-pound bomb,

the oxygen tanks or medical tents

you hang limp, you have no choice

his hands make tight hooks

in your slender frame

knees and shoulders

he tries with everything to hold you together

.

not passage

you are the gate, closing

another line crossed

you are Rafah

and tonight he has seen you in flames

.

a camera records it

a flash unrecognizable across his desperate face

but for the eyes of strangers

a twitch of your finger


↣ holocene trail
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