Day 516/Ceasefire Day 46

Just yesterday her father
was playing with her. Laughing.  Then
this morning he found her
cold, not breathing.  He
pounded her tiny chest
to no avail.  She was two
months old, she died
because it was cold, because
her body could not keep
its warmth.  What
to say to this father?  That
he did all he could?  That
his two months with his infant
were sweet, were filled
with hope?  Just yesterday
she was smiling at him,
her whole face radiant.
The merciless inventory
of dampness, cold, her mother’s
insufficient milk, no one
in Gaza having enough of anything
to be sustained, stole her
as surely as an airstrike
might have done.  Merciless
relentless litany of what kills.