by Buff Whitman-Bradley
The poem is missing in Gaza although
There have been fleeting glimpses and
Unconfirmed sightings someone says
She saw it floating down a gutter in a
Foaming river of blood another one
Reports hearing its cries from under
A building bombed to rubble and dust
The poem is missing in Gaza it may
Have been at an open-air morgue
Among the bodies of children killed
From the sky while waiting for a bus
A doctor believes he may have
Amputated the poem’s shredded legs
And tossed them on a pile of other limbs
The poem is missing in Gaza some say
They saw it run into a school to escape
The bombs just before the bombs
Obliterated the place the flesh of its
Hands and arms may have been fried
From the bones as it tried to rub white
Phosphorous off a burning infant
The poem is missing in Gaza have the
Explosions melted its eyes shattered
Its eardrums is it being pursued through
The convulsing streets by the people with
Gunmetal grins whose breath smells
Like ammunition whose microprocessor
Eyes see everywhere but into the heart
The poem is missing in Gaza the Gunmetal
Grins have big plans they will build a
A wall around the poem and imprison
The poem and torture the poem and steal
Its land and cut down its olive trees and
Slowly starve the poem and its children
Until there is nothing left of them but
The poem eludes the Gunmetal Grins
Armless legless deaf and blind it has
Made its way to the same beach where
Artillery fire killed a family on a picnic
It cannot hear the waves or see the sky
Grow pale but it feels the warm sand and
Smells the perfumed hands of evening
And the poem can remember it can
Remember murdered children back to life
And disappeared villages out of the earth
Holding their arms open to welcome
Refugees home it can remember shy winds
Blowing through olive groves and what
The poem remembers becomes a song
A song that gets up and walks away
From the beach into the smoking ruins
Of villages and towns the Gunmetal Grins
Cannot hear the song with explosions
In their heads and blood in their ears but
The people can hear they begin singing softly
We will not be erased and we will not die
Buff Whitman-Bradley is a peace and social justice activist in Northern California. In addition to writing, he produces documentary videos and audios. With his wife Cynthia, he is co-producer/director of the award winning video Outside In, about people who visit prisoners on San Quentin's death row.
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