This piece is based on what is happening in Gaza. The photo was taken in the West Bank. I spent a couple of weeks in the West Bank and spent pretty much all day with this rather large family of Palestinian Bedouin people. They befriended me the minute I set foot in their area of the city. I had coffee at their cafe every morning, lunch at one of their restaurants each day, and the wives took turns bringing us dinner each night. A slew of brothers, uncles, and nephews all owned the shops and restaurants in the part of the city where I was staying. The main brother (oldest and most influential) “put a tail” on me for the entire time I was in the city. I didn’t know this until the last day when we were eating dinner and I made the comment “Man, I just love this city, everyone is so friendly, giving, and hospitable. Every store I went into, everyone seemed to already know me. They gave me tea and a little snack while I walked around and they had me sit to talk for a bit. I felt it was odd the fist time I experienced this but after that, it felt really nice and I enjoyed. But it felt like I was constantly being watched.” The main older brother said “Drew you were being watched. I had either a nephew (he had hundreds) or a local boy “tail” you to make sure nothing happened to you. Everyone knew you were here the minute you got off the bus. The family you are renting from were worried about you, thought you might be too overly friendly and came to me. That’s why I shouted at you as you walked by my cafe the very first day you arrived. We are just one large family here and we take care of each other.” He poured me more mint tea, my eyes welled up, and I nodded.
I have written a number of poems about the genocide taking place in Gaza. This is the first
Brutal
Invasion’s grip, a tale untold,
Where darkness weaves its web so bold.
Children’s laughter silenced, stilled,
As war’s cruel hand the innocent spilled.
A symphony of sorrow in disarray,
The invasion’s shadow, a brutal ballet.
Atrocities stain the canvas of time,
Echoes of anguish in every rhyme.
Women weep, their hearts torn,
A tragic saga, in blood is worn.
Amidst the ruins, a plea for peace,
May compassion and justice find release.
Drew Frederic