ay-aaaah

[ay-aaaah]

woke up with the heaviest heart today.

my heart is chronically broken

by the floods of videos still pouring out of Gaza.

of children, their bones like knives against paper thin skin,

their small bodies quietly shutting down

being lucky enough to catch a bag of flour

from a deathly air drop,

clutching it to their chest and running

as if their heartbeat depends on it,

because it does.

parents, hollow-eyed and aching,

watch their babies wilt before them.

they die slowly too - physically and figuratevly -

a thousand deaths for every moment they can’t make the pain stop.

they carry the unbearable guilt

of not doing enough,

even when they’re starving, grieving, breaking.

like carvings I never asked for

and they spill tears from my eyes

when I sit still for too long,

when I ask myself what more we can do.

but nothing feels like enough.

nothing will ever feel like enough

while the world watches Gaza burn

and continues on with its day.

for what it has allowed Gaza to endure

for the silence,

for the hollow condemnations,

the shrugs dressed up as policy

and I hate everyone who has let their privilege

rock them gently to sleep,

who has swallowed desensitization

like it’s a coping mechanism

when in reality, it’s a betrayal.

[ay-aaaah]

august

[ay-aaaah]

Adam Butler. Panarea, Sicily.

[ay-aaaah]

Palestine - فلسطين

[ay-aaaah]

Aimee Nezhukumatathil, from Lucky Fish: Poems: “Foosh”

[ay-aaaah]

I flourish in my own solitude. Out of touch & out of reach is where I’ve been lately.

[ay-aaaah]

[ay-aaaah]

[ay-aaaah]

[ay-aaaah]

[ay-aaaah]

[ay-aaaah]

[ay-aaaah]

Can’t wait to do this

[ay-aaaah]

the hidden half, tahmineh milani, 2001

[ay-aaaah]

embarrassment has good bones

[ay-aaaah]

Marya Hornbacher, Waiting

[ay-aaaah]