Clouds, Smoke, Alarm away from Gaza

by Mosab Abu Toha

First time boarding a plane, first
time seeing my city shrink as if a belt is
fastening around its waist, first time
my feet getting far from the earth.

From the plane’s window, a big lake: a drop of rain.
Clouds swim beneath the plane. I hear a young cloud say
Oh, look at that boy! It seems
it’s his first time boarding a plane
and seeing us from above.

Words of a flight attendant tap on my ears
What would you like to drink, sir?

I’m not a sir. I’m just a refugee who’s
travelling for the first time at 27 of age.

Pineapple Juice, please! Oh, and how long until we land?

The attendant consults her watch.
Oh! Sorry! The watch is not working.
I forgot to have the battery changed.

She pours me some juice, leaving me
think of the remaining time.

I look out through the window again.
The sky clears up.
I could hear the steps of some clouds running
behind the plane’s tail.
A toilet flushing.

The plane slightly shakes. I look around at people.
I feel scared. Some people
are still reading, others sleeping.

I busy myself, flip through photos on my phone,
photos of sunset, of Gaza’s sea, of flowers
in our home’s small garden, of my parents picking
olives, guavas, and oranges.

The plane finally lands. I grab my carry–on,
wait until the passage clears.

I hail a taxi. A driver, in his forties, a cigarette in his
mouth, opens the trunk.

At the last stoplight before he turns, he puffs
away at his cigarette. The thin white smoke soars up, drifts into
a slightly open window of a small house on the corner.

The fire alarm in that house blares out.
It was a kitchen window. The girl inside freaks out.
Smell of cigarette smoke fills up her lungs. She peeks through
the window, sees the smoker, thoughtful driver, eyes on the red
light.

She catches sight of me, in my suit after my long trip.
She gazes at me, her eyes inviting me
to share dinner with her. I feel she’s lonely and away
like me.

Smoke from factories and cars
makes the city strange to birds
in the sky.

A very big truck blocks our sights.
The car, the truck, everything moves.
But I still think
What is she cooking for dinner?