Shana Tova. Gut Yor. Happy New Year.
The last few months of 5774 were pretty dismal for the world. Here's to 5775 being more full of light.
The war in/on Gaza was heartbreaking from a number of perspectives. I didn't write or publicly post much about it. I am posting below a poem which I wrote about Gaza a couple years ago (and published in the lit mag Promethean) because it is, sadly, continually relevant.
I participated in a few actions this summer with a group called If Not Now. People are thinking, people are working, people are trying to do inspiring things.
Anyway, I haven't been posting to this blog very regularly, but you can also stay up with me on facebook and twitter (and now ello).
You can also check out some nonfiction I've published over the past few months:
I'll leave you with that Gaza poem:
Prized city, resting place of the prophet’s great
grandpa. The Phoenicians visited you
on their way from Tyre down to Cyrene.
You were home to the first Christian monastery.
You fell to King David, whose heavy
shield I wear around my neck.
You fell to the Caliphate. You fell
to the crusaders. Salahuddin
took you back. You flourished under the Pashas.
I don’t understand the modern history so well.
I have sat with otherwise rational men,
and listened as they became irate
over the subject of borders.
I understand that there are high rises
with people living inside of them.
I understand they have nowhere else to live.
I understand that if a missile hits
a building, the people in the building die.