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Poetry

Grief

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she has her father’s hands

filled with soft oceans.

 

to sleep

i would lay next to him

listening to The Voice of Peace

salt-water-air filling the room

as i wrapped my small hands around his

(my body a fraction of an already small bed)

dreaming new worlds

safe worlds

beyond Occupation

which is where he is now.

 

today

when i take her hands in mine

i feel their salt-water-air.

 

i do not know what will happen to me

when she takes her oceans to her father

and leaves me ashore.

 

-grief | mother | ummi

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