Leaving the house,
I am layered with my
winter armor:
Jacket, hat, scarf, gloves.

This is one of the
coldest winters in Gaza,
chill working its way
into the very marrow of my bones
and the fibers of my muscles:
icy fingers.

Warmth from a heater
would chase them away.
But electricity is elusive in Gaza:
Scarce fuel.

I laugh as I remember:
I read once that
Gaza floats on a lake of gas.
But Israel prevents its logical use–
at least by Palestinians.

Running in my armor,
rain now added to the cold,
I watch as the streets begin to sink
beneath a tide of water.
Sewage swirls in deep, rutted holes
that seem to widen every minute:
Inefficient waste treatment is another
‘gift’ of Israel.

Is it too late to learn gymnastics?
So I can leap over these mini lakes?
Another skill needed to be a Gazan.