Collage by Becky Winter
My Son Throws a Blanket Over My Daughter
At night, at home, we sit on the floor,
close to each other and
far from the windows and the red
lights of bombs. Our backs bang on the walls
whenever the house shakes.
We stare at each other’s face,
scared and yet happy that we were lucky,
that our lives were spared this time.
The walls wake up from their fitful sleep.
Flies gather around the only lit ceiling lamp
for warmth in the cold night,
cold except when missiles hit
and heat up houses and roads and trees,
scorching an adjacent neighborhood.
Every time we hear a bomb
falling from an F-16 or an F-35,
our lives panic. Our lives freeze
somewhere in-between, confused
where to head next:
to a graveyard, to a hospital,
or to a nightmare.
Our lives keep their shivering hands
on their wristwatch,
fingers ready to remove the batteries
if and when needed.
My four-year-old daughter, Yaffa,
in her pink dress, hears a bomb
explode. She breathes in deep,
covers her mouth with her dress’s ruffles.
Yazzan, her five-and-a-half-year old brother,
grabs a blanket warmed by his sleepy body.
He lays the blanket on his sister.
You can hide now, he assures her.
As for me and my wife, Maram, we pray
that a magic blanket would hide all the houses
from the bombs and take us to somewhere safe.
Mosab Abu Toha is a Palestinian poet, short story writer, and essayist from Gaza. His debut book, Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear: Poems from Gaza (City Lights Books), won the 2022 Palestine Book Award.
A Mother's Body Is Gold
Her child (children), her victory,
her prized possession, her riches,
her greatest achievement, and greatest masterpiece
What lies deep inside her golden armor
is a part of her soul,
her past, her future, and history
The beginning of the next greatest chapter
She holds a lifeline
of neverending love
A mother's body is gold
her child is the treasure and her radiant glow
her golden armor
She is the nourishment that surrounds life,
and her child's abundant supply
Her love is unbreakable
Embraced before the very first breath
A neverending connection of love forevermore
— Alicia Barrera
The Worst of The Worst
An eighteen year old high school girl,
honor student, soccer player,
speaks no Spanish,
came from Guatemala as a child,
was attending immigration hearings,
doing the right thing,
apprehended, to be deported.
The worst of the worst
they said.
A mother in her forties,
known as a model mom,
working at a Waffle House,
a favorite waitress,
in rural Missouri
was arrested
at a regular immigration hearing
doing the right thing.
The worst of the worst
they repeated.
An old gentleman
arrested while he trimmed the grass
at a local business
according to his two sons,
both United States Marines.
To be deported.
The worst of the worst
they said over and over.
And the stories go on and on.
And the fear grows.
While they call these people
the worst of the worst,
I wonder if this is exactly
who we
are becoming.
— Larry Morris (he/him)
