Gaza is a door
into two worlds -
one that keeps us alive,
and one that kills us.
We die, either way,
at the door.
Death is a door
we knock on. And then run
far away from.
Life is a door
we can’t remember if we chose
to walk through.
Meanwhile, the river moves,
a running thing,
away and towards.
Meanwhile, I,
the other living thing
standing on this bridge,
autumn leaves in my pocket,
rain on my skin -
the tiniest of windows letting light in.
Artwork : @bypeoni Peonica Fernando
Poem featuring at dverse poets
