Walking along the road to the metro,
I have read that of 12 killed so far,
5 were children. The IDF claimed
they were all terrorists. The clusters
of raspberries are red and I eat them.
Over 1,000 soldiers supported
by missile-carrying drones
invaded dense neighborhoods.
IDF means Israel Defense Force;
it withdrew with its armored cars
from the Jenin refugee camp only
after depriving families of electricity,
water; after smashing roads to rubble;
after blocking ambulances trying to reach
the wounded, after invading hospitals
and detonating canisters of tear gas there.
The raspberries are still safe to eat.
The news says Israel is buying 25
more F-35 stealth fighter jets from
the U.S. for free; the deal is financed
through U.S. military aid: nearly
$4 billion given outright to Israel
every year no matter what;
not as loans to be paid back.
I turn back to the raspberries,
remembering that time I ate ripe
mulberries from a tree in the park.
The UN observer on tv said Jenin,
in the Occupied West Bank,
is in Area A, which is supposedly
under the sole control of Palestine.
Meanwhile Israel launched airstrikes
attacking Gaza again. I pay my fare
at the metro, go downtown
to the homeless shelter, and share
poems by Tu Fu and Langston Hughes.
Bonnie Naradzay’s recent poems are in AGNI, New Letters, Kenyon Review, Tampa Review, Birmingham Poetry Review, Crab Creek Review, and many other sites. She was awarded the New Orleans MFA’s poetry prize: a month’s stay in the South Tyrol castle (in the Dolomites) of Ezra Pound’s daughter Mary. For many years, she has led regular poetry sessions at shelters for the homeless and at a retirement center, all in Washington, DC.