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Naomi Shihab Nye
Beautiful Gaza

The people who live there made it feel
Like home. They planted strawberries,
Weeded fields,
Carried little backpacks to school.

You like to go places?
So did they.
But they couldn’t
Go far. They could go to the next town
Or camp if they were
Lucky. Sometimes they blew up balloons
Or cooked outside on open fires,
Like a party.

There are many kinds of lucky.

Once I saw a video Beautiful Gaza, My Home,
Narrated by a young girl.

I think TV stations might play that video
Every day now. They owe this to
40,000 people.

*

Once, in days that felt more free,
We traveled from the Egyptian border
Up through Gaza on a public bus.
We had passports. We could go places.

The bus rattled mightily.

You lay in the far back seat with malaria,

Sweat pooling on your forehead,
A bandanna tied around your nose and mouth.
This was before everyone had masks.
Women and men who didn’t even know you
Stooped to offer water, wipe your brow.

This is what I remember of Gaza.

Beautiful fields.

The people wipe your brow.

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