French la Vie

The Living
2026-05-27 11:29 UTC by Corey

Another bomb.
Dust hanging in the air.
Names becoming prayers.

Then the brooms, shovels- bare hands.

Men sweeping destruction into piles.
Someone lifting fallen fruit back into a crate.
A chair turned upright.
Resilience clutched.

The killed carried away.
The wounded gathered close.
Hearts holding infliction from injustice.
The street returning to itself.

I watched in awe.

How does the heart continue after so much breaking?
How does morning still arrive inside the body?

Faith, courage, honor, belief in Palestine-
deeply sacred.
Tea poured. Floors washed. Shops re opened.
Children called home to tents before dark.

Life continuation.

A kind of courage I do not know how to name.

To live fully while standing beside ruin.
To keep tending to ordinary things.
To sweep the ground that is home.