Gaza

There is a place where bombs,
missiles fall like
rain
snow,
winter,
apples
fall
in other places

but only here,
human flesh is burnt, trampled
stamped on,
unhived,
poisoned,
apples with plenty of seeds
succulent, grown, with rounded shapes
red, white, green and black,
one apple would feed you
for a long time, like a handful of
rice fed Vietnam.
Here the seeds
are scorched, the fruit is ripped of its soul.
They anchor their harpoon in
our flesh knowingly,
trees grow yellow
like your ancient Sycamore Gap
uprooted one night.
 murderers,
 robbers,
 vandals,
torturers,
 Israeli soldiers
prefer darkness to take lives,
to arson
to strangle,
shoot
lie,
annihilate
entire families as if they
were crops destined to
 rot outside near
their olive groves.