[You were so small in my hands]
You were so small in my hands
no shrapnel could hit you,
but the dust and
smoke of the bomb
rushed into your lungs.
No need for any gauze.
They just closed your eyes.
No need for any shroud.
You were already
in your swaddle blanket.
Credit
Copyright © 2025 by Mosab Abu Toha. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 13, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.
About this Poem
“Over the past few months, Israel has killed many families in Gaza. A large number of those were children. Some kids were beheaded or burnt or both in air strikes. Some were buried and [are] still under the rubble of their houses. I personally lost thirty-one members of my family, eighteen of them were children.”
—Mosab Abu Toha
Author
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.
Date Published
03/13/2025