Twinkle Twinkle little bomb

Posted: 08/07/2014 in Poetry

Dead baby doesn’t cry.
I hold her close to my breast, offering it to her,
but she doesn’t bite.
Six days have passed since she was bombed.
My little girl.
Bombed.
A terrorist, they said.
Hamas, they said.
I do not understand why my baby is dead.
I wash her every morning at sunrise to the night I haven’t slept
and she didn’t cry all night.
The smell won’t fade no matter how hard I scrub.
I wash her, and my despair, ready for the new day
that brings no life.
Gaza is beautiful this time of bombing
all for one and always more than one dead.
We have become experienced, no, good, at death.
Relatives tell me it’s time to bury my little girl.
But not yet.
Just a little longer
until we rest together.
Any day now it will be my turn,
and once it’s done
I’ll get to hear my little girl cry again.

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