Ghazal: no surviving family
by Janet Hatherley
It’s a new acronym, the medic says,
WCNSF. Wounded child, no surviving family.
The three-year-old in her rescuer’s arms, chatters,
glances at the sky, eyes wild, no surviving family.
One orange a day from their only tree,
no other food, no stockpiles. No surviving family.
People leaving, a second nakba.
Once more exiled, no surviving family.
Gaza’s a prison between land, sea and desert,
it’s apartheid. No surviving family.
I’m twenty-four, the journalist said, never let out
of Gaza, never seen a mountainside. No surviving family.
Hospitals collapsed weeks ago,
everywhere bodies piled, no surviving family.
It’s been seventy-five years, the Palestinian said.
Time up, the West replied, no surviving family.
Israel has a right to defend itself, it says.
The world’s been lied to, no surviving family.
Drive them out the settler calls,
a Zionist brainchild, no surviving family.
We didn’t do anything wrong, we didn’t do anything wrong,
a greatgrandchild and no surviving family.
