If you unbutton my shirt,
unzip the skin,
you will see my heart clench
with every breaking news from Gaza.

If you crack my skull,
you will see my brain quivering,
exhausted from trying to eject the images
of smoke, rubble and rendered flesh.

If you touch my shoulder,
you will feel me shivering,
wracked by anxiety and fear.

If you peer into my mouth,
you will see my poems on the tip of my tongue,
tasting of blood and dust.

On Thanksgiving, should I be thankful
for the death of three friends?
Should I be thankful
for being trapped outside Gaza?
Should I be thankful for maybe being
the only survivor among my family?

Should I be thankful for a four-day reprieve,
when what we need is for
the bombing to stop and our people to be free?
Should I be thankful to live in a world
that can look in the mirror
and fail to see the blood of Palestinians on its hands?