 |
@POETSorg |
[You were so small in my hands]
You were so small in my hands
no shrapnel could hit you,
but the dust and
smoke of the bomb
rushed into your lungs.
No need for any gauze.
They just closed your eyes.
No need for any shroud.
You were already
in your swaddle blanket.
Copyright © 2025 by Mosab Abu Toha. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 13, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.
 |
| Mosab Abu Toha is a Palestinian poet and founder of the Edward Said Library, Gaza’s only English-language library. He is a former visiting poet at Harvard’s department of comparative literature. Photo credit: Mohamed Mehdy |
poems
| Year | Title |
|---|---|
| 2025 | [You were so small in my hands] |
| 2025 | [Gaza has become a funeral home] |
| 2022 | Discoveries |
| 2022 | Leaving Childhood Behind |
| 2022 | What is Home? |
| 2022 | Displaced |
| 2022 | Mouth Still Open |
No comments:
Post a Comment