Four of us
were trapped
in southern Gaza
on the made-up border
surrounded by 100 snipers’ bullets
like birds about to be snared
with gas bombs falling from the sky
like the rains of January.
Hope lunged out of the smoky darkness
with her kufiyah wrapped around her neck;
like a deer
she ran,
holding our flag
below the kites flying,
she came running and shouting,
“I’m coming for you, for the land!”
Then handed us the flag
to put it on the fence to prove
this land is ours and
we’re returning.
We ran back with her
the four of us
holding each other’s hands;
like a chain of protection,
we formed a human shield
to protect her,
our hope, but
the sky was our shield
protecting us all
from the rain of bullets
at our backs.
We ran from our grief to come,
inhaling the gas and
the sound of bullets
sinking into other bodies
falling.
She didn’t.
We surrounded
our hope,
kept her running.