His mother did not wash it for this,
for him to be carried dead by two friends
across the thirsty ground of Gaza.
That morning he put it on, she told him
he looked handsome, a fine deep color
for an unfolding day.
Copyright © 2022 by Naomi Shihab Nye. This poem originally appeared in Tikkun, September 10, 2021. Used with permission of the author.