Mouth Still Open
Someone’s mouth is still open. He hadn’t finished yawning
when shrapnel
pierced
through
his chest,
stung his
heart.
No wind
could
stop the
flying pieces
of shrapnel. Even
the sparrow on the lemon tree nearby wondered how they
could
move
with
no
wings
Copyright © 2022 by Mosab Abu Toha. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 15, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.
“The people of Gaza, mostly children, have lived through four major attacks since 2008, the latest of which was in May 2021. Some whole families were buried under the rubble of their own houses. I’m a father of three children, and I’ve been struggling to convince them we’re safe. A bomb might fall any time and silence us forever; a piece of shrapnel could be a full-stop, ending someone’s chat. One could die while drinking tea, while taking a bath, while recording a poem, or while yawning. Or maybe while convincing our children they’re safe.”
—Mosab Abu Toha
Mosab Abu Toha
Mosab Abu Toha is a Palestinian poet and founder of the Edward Said Library, Gaza’s only English-language library. He is a former visiting poet at Harvard’s department of comparative literature.