Gaza’s Sea
At night it’s a vast melancholy blue.
Waves gather and flow like a rippling sateen,
a boundless widow’s thobe
embroidered with cerulean thread,
edged with sea foam lace.
Fish leap and dance
from crease to pleat to pocket.
Each dawn and dusk
fishermen would go out with nets
to harness their silvery catch: sea bream,
white grouper, red mullet, sardines.
Throngs of fishmongers would await them
with talk and dreams of succulence
crisped over hot coals. At home
the tatbeelet samak with cumin, garlic,
and green chilies would be prepared.
But Gaza’s fishermen no longer trawl
from small boats a few miles from shore.
Israel’s bombs and bullets would find them.
The generous sea, unable to answer
the calls of hunger from the land,
sends infinite waves to Gaza’s shores,
persistent hopes clad in cloaks of mourning.
They carry the whispers and roars
of life in forward motion.