Bread-Sticks of Oblivion (A Poem on Gaza)

Bread-Sticks of Oblivion
((A Little Girl named Gaza, in a land and war named the same) (A Poem on existence))



Here is a testimony: about a ten-year old daughter
to a twenty-five year old—I call her Gaza
(in the photograph you don’t see that):
making what is left out of life
into something bearable—
a slight frown with a uncertainty (you see that).
Actually, she looks like, kind of like:
a wild creature
(red sweater on, dirty dishes on a wooden table
in a blown-out café of rubble and debris).
There, near by her are dishes, is bowl full of
tomatoes, and red peppers,
some eggs laying loose on the side,
I wonder how they’re going to cook them!
There’s a little hand to her right,
she’s holding on to it…
and another little girl to her left
what man betrays and sacrifices—
(I whisper inside my head, is no
deeper than this glance into the past
which is the present, and foreseeable future);
what more can I tell you about it?
Here’s are the bread-sticks
that will grow out of oblivion.

No: 2774 (8-9-2010)