And so I came to lie in this bed—
no field of battle churned
by troops and shells and tanks.
I am as strange as a grenade tossed
into a church, synagogue or mosque,
as a roiling cloud of burning smoke
and dust where a tower should stand.
People here love me like this:
dirty and dented, my work undone.
See how they kneel and touch me,
hoist me away like an old grandmother.
So much thought went into creating
me, and I was manufactured
and delivered with all due diligence,
but something wrong with me is
what went right. I am the negative of these
times, as unexpected as the orders
given when mercy is what was called for.
• Poem inspired by news article: “Family Survives an Israeli airstrike that hit their home in Khan Yoounis”
