Three Small Bodies in Gaza

Note – the following poem was submitted to World Can’t Wait comments, by Rick the poet

Three small bodies in Gaza.
Lined on linen in a row.
Like triplets,
all the same.

No blood distracts from their toddler trance
No grimace of death pain.
I cannot but stare at the innocence.
Missing limbs are but there, still attached.

Someone points and the pale sleep speaks.
How neatly is this death?
See the circle-symmetry of centered targets,
slow moving.
Cleansed by the echo of cleansing shots.
Exit wounds all the size of an infant's fist.
Each one, small-chest center.
Already mother-cleansed
and lifetime-wept.

The crowd stirs in uniform misery.
A dance in the greed of hell.
Lonely witness to
the mercy of an American rifle
in the hands of an Israeli sniper
making room for his sister’s house.


Main Palestine Three Small Bodies in Gaza


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