
This year, Santa chose to enter Gaza
Amid the bombing, the fractured homes,
Blown storefronts, shattered clinics,
Cratered streets, and bodies strewn, unburied.
He entered through the sky,
Riding his sleigh
But even with his mask on,
The smell of white phosphorus and rotten bodies,
Penetrated his nose.
Tears poured from under his glasses,
As poisonous dust had occupied the sky of Gaza for two months.
His throat was sore.
The children were good this year.
While the world offered only monstrous death,
He must have wondered what to give each one.
Khaik? falafel? flashlight? blanket? a drink of water? hope?
He remembered.
Aya loved her Barbie dolls.
Ahmed wanted his Legos.
Bassem loved chocolate.
Raneen loved falafel.
Basel wanted a train.
Basman loved his little poetry books.
Bassem loved to act.
He wondered how he could take
Bassem to a theatre
When every inch of Gaza lay in ruins.
Now, only water, food, flashlights, blankets,
And a glimpse of hope were everybody’s wish in Gaza.
He flew across the fence
In the middle of the night,
Hoping not to alert a sniper in a tower,
Or a drone that never leaves the sky of Gaza.
He knew they always hated the kind grandpa
With his gift-filled sacks.
He reached Ahmed’s house,
But before he could hand Ahmed a gift,
A rocket struck.
Under the rubble,
They found the bodies of Santa
And Ahmed and a box of Legos.