Mosab Abu Toha

In Gaza, our bodies and rooms get crushed.

Nothing remains for the soul.

Even our souls,

they get stuck under the rubble for weeks.

I ask her to remember,

not because I want to hear the story again,

but because I want to watch her face relive

the moment. That moment, her eyes sparkle with longing,

I can see how she flies from the tent

to a time when she leapt

through our farm in every direction with eyes closed,

only stopping at the fence, where our orange trees

embrace our neighbors’ olive trees.

Some fallen oranges would tell her to open her eyes,

to pick them up and put them in a plate at our doorstep

ask her to remember,

not because I want to hear the story again,

but because I want to watch her face relive

the moment. That moment, her eyes sparkle with longing,

I can see how she flies from the tent

to a time when she leapt

through our farm in every direction with eyes closed,

only stopping at the fence, where our orange trees

embrace our neighbors’ olive trees.

Some fallen oranges would tell her to open her eyes,

to pick them up and put them in a plate at our doorstep,