by Tricia Knoll
“Our biggest dream is to just be able to stand by the windows.” —Saleem Aburas, a relief coordinator with the Red Crescent near Al-Amal hospital in Khan Younis, quoted in “Two Hospitals in Southern Gaza Are Left Barely Functioning," The New York Times, February 19, 2024
To stand by a window. To see my neighbors water their geraniums
on the stoop. To watch traffic, the old blue cars and the new cars
going off to work. The children waiting at the front doors for
a mother to walk them off to school. To watch my wife in the
garden. At night to watch moths flutter at the street lights.
Of course it’s holidays with family. Feasting foods after fasts.
The hug from my cousin who owes me money. My hug to him.
A first drink of cold water after sleep. It’s all these things,
plus those moths fluttering at the street lights who think
dreams come true.
Tricia Knoll welcomes the arrival of her new book of poetry Wild Apples from Fernwood Press this week—poems that tell stories of downsizing, moving 3000 miles from Oregon to Vermont, running into Covid and welcoming two grandsons.
