Throughout 18 months of displacement, and miles of walking between cities and refugee camps, I wore the same painful shoes.
Much of Tel Al-Hawa, the neighborhood I call home, has been destroyed. But people are returning with plans to rebuild.
It’s cold outside. / It has now been two weeks, / Three days, perhaps seven hours, / That I became houseless.
Displacement now defines my life, while warmth and safety are only memories buried under the rubble.
A family rebuilds its home in Gaza, only to be forced to leave it, and perhaps lose it, it again.
The lived experience of moving from part of Gaza to another is heavy with fear, longing, loss, and horror.
Portraits of my family lined the walls / the scent of lavender in the corridors / colorful toys in a box on the floor.
I heard the voice of myself / in the middle of war and death / wondering if I was a ghost.
‘The house had no recognizable features, nothing was in its place, and nothing appeared salvageable.’
The dream of returning to a normal life in northern Gaza fuels my endurance.
‘If I survive this genocide, I promise that I will rebuild our home again and make it more beautiful than ever!’
In a corner of our rented third-story house / Clay stuck to straw / A home for a future family
