Witness
For Gaza
Give me sunlight in a shallow
cave, I am unseen. Give me
the wind to take my rage
into the sky where it can spread
without bloodshed. The clouds
will make room, walk back
a few steps and let these words
take hold of their tracks. Onward
and on and on goes the wailing
of winter in the midst of this desert
storm. Give me wings, I am
unfree. Let me shape my voice
into something the world can
see: soft, light, and white.
Are these calls heard amongst
the rocks, within the cities, down
the rivers? Am I loud enough
to bring down planes circling
people like vultures over carcass?
Their bones will be picked, tossed
in the dirt instead of buried beneath
praying feet. If their rocks can hit
tanks, if their shoulders are straight,
their eyes unblinking, then my voice
can call this globe home, pull
the clouds in, the mountains down,
the rivers straight, hit the sky.
By Lana Issam Ghannam
Lana Issam Ghannam is a first-generation Palestinian-American, born and raised in Central Florida. She received her MFA from the University of Central Florida and is the author of two collections of poetry: Evolution of Stone (Swan Scythe Press, 2021) and Two Tongues (Finishing Line Press, 2019). Ghannam's poetry has appeared in South Dakota Review, The Revolution (Relaunch), Burrow Press, Raleigh Review, Mississippi Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, Sukoon, and The Cape Rock, among other journals.
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