beit hanoun

from a dear friend/beautiful soul/poet . . . she’s allowed me to share.

“I wrote this a few years ago. Some of you have already read it. Unfortunately, it is relevant still. I want to share it again.” s.p.

——————————–

beit hanoun

outside your window

where dogs circumscribe with urine

their places

lies a pool of your daughter’s blood.

visceral mornings

sing deep throat songs,

and you can’t stop

the sun from lighting shards

like rubies.

and you can’t stop her voice

from taking your sleep

like a feast.

outside your window

where night chased itself

blindfolded, through the dirt

lies a pool of your daughter’s blood.

someone must bring a broom,

or a towel, or a bucket

of water

someone must wash away her blush

for other children’s feet

for life to move forward.

misery
is the empty-handed departure

from a dream.

a neighbor whispers too loudly

at least a skeleton

is something

to hold

your son

suddenly old

inspects the sole of every shoe

terrified

for the task of protecting

what remains.

they say hope

will return and when she does

greet her warmly invite her in.

last night you soared

above mountains

of the small pink shoes

she would have worn

to your sister’s wedding.

you discovered a man pressing

his nose against a window

to stop up the blood

another fumbling breaking his fingers

under boots to find his cracked glasses

trampled

in the traffic of apathetic passersby.

I do not want to wait for hope

says your wife.

She is a traitor.

you stand motionless in the shower

turning cold

convinced of the phantoms trapped

in the fan

listening intently for the last

laugh you did not memorize

in time.

wondering should you run

to your son and seize his face

between your hands

howling I love you

we, we are still here

or instead

withdraw, disappearing

like the train of a dress around a corner

because you have heard

or you have learned

the greater the love the deeper the loss.

outside your window

where months from today

an old man will kneel

to pick up a small white stone

and shiver

understanding too quickly

why children’s teeth appear in alleys

lies a pool of your daughter’s blood.

someone must bring a broom,

or a towel, or a bucket

of water

someone must wash away her blush

for other children’s feet

for life to move forward.

(shabnam piryaei)

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