Gaza

Gaza, January 18, 2009

Norbert Ruebsaat


A word is a thing that we have against death.
It is only a word:
It is as sim­ple as a feather.

I hold it up:
Here is the word, I say.

My enemy holds his child against his body
For pro­tec­tion.
He shoots: who falls?

Name me not as your killer,
Says the word.
I am that which you have
Against death.





Name
The silence of weapons,
The sound that fol­lows a gun­shot:
Who are you?
Asks this silence.

Describe your exact fea­tures.
Describe the coun­try you come from,
The names its lips have re–
Collected.
Describe your worth.

When you can­not speak,
When silence holds you,
When all of you aches
Like a lost arm,
When you curse your birth,
And your mother, long dead,
Has for­got­ten your skin,
What is left of you?

When you crouch in the space
Behind your teeth,
Give your­self a name.
Urge for­ward,
Dream it.




A coun­try that failed.
Its inhab­i­tants flee.
Where they then were
Is not.
You are fac­ing into a wind,
Your thoughts inhabit
Phases of you
That whip by.

Turn, and you remem­ber
An equa­tion, some­thing
Someone said. Once.
No longer a mir­a­cle.

The coun­try that failed
Walks away from its inhab­i­tants
Like a sea­man,
And lone­li­ness invents
New rules.
   
You are within earshot.

for HC.