The Phone Call Poem by Nathalie Handal

The phone line is on fire,
my cousin's spirit in flames
as she tells me
about Dar Al-Kalima
an occupied school, pre-K to 10th grade:
24 bullets on the English classroom door
not 1 door standing,
all crosses destroyed in this Lutheran school
and little Ibrahim, 10 years old,
now sleeps on his stomach
his back dark blue, beaten by soldiers-
knocked down as he rode his bike…
I listen, my breaths stuck
between my limping words,
how I wish I could end this call
and dial 911.