Dawn

Mornings after the bombs - Palestine

Sunlight cracked through the darkness.

Horizons collapsed into fragments.

Our children's small feet turned skyward,

as time froze and places shut their eyes,

like a child closing her lids on unspoken words.

Ceilings cascaded in avalanches of stone,

and beneath the wreckage one last scene remains:

a final portrait etched on our faces.

Tonight we age alone, spinning hours like yarn,

swallowing the dread dripping from our children's mouths.

Who will feast on our weathered lips?

The dawn ruptured our illusion of safety.

Endings were severed mid-sentence.

We grow old tonight, braiding minutes like hair.