Good Night

Good night.
We have left behind
the day and the cell,
Palestinian doctors and nurses
tied to the shadows of a tank.
The good doctor
stood amongst the rubble,
unburying the needle and the antibiotics,
the scalpel and the anesthesia.
They took the doctor, Abu Safiya,
pushed him inside the jeep,
broke his eyebrows,
and folded his chin.
But his eyes remained open,
his fingers ripened,
like pomegranates—sour and sweet.
The scent pervaded.
The soldiers were dust and razors,
slitting his skin as the sky howled.
His overall had fallen,
mortally wounded,
in a hospital bed.