issue 5
// poetry
After a ceasefire is announced
by Ella B. Winters
My mother is on the phone,
again. We are fine, we are all fine,
she says. The hostages are
back, baruch hashem, restored
to their families and homes, can start
rebuilding bodies, minds, lives–
I half-listen. All my senses
on the broadcast of grey,
emaciated bodies returning
to grey dust and rubble, to death
notices by mass-graves, to torn
tents and neighbours, hollowed
out like pitted olives, like watermelons
served at Knesset parties, like god
-forsaken people. I've seen
these images before, but not
like this. My holocaust was never
HD technicolour. And still, come April,
they will erect a stage in every
sports hall, stern-looking children
dressed in white and blue will sing
about the gaunt, sombre faces
projected behind them in fuzzy
monochrome. Still, they will proclaim
in every classroom: never again!
about the author // Ella B. Winters
| Ella B. Winters (she/they) is a social worker, researcher, and writer, living on the South-East coast of England with her partner and their sausage dog. Her poetry often explores themes of identity, memory and belonging. It has been published or is forthcoming in The Aftershock Review, Full House Literary, Black Iris, Wild Roof Journal, Outskirts Literary, and elsewhere, and was twice nominated for the Pushcart prize. She is an associate editor at Shadow & Sax. |
Instagram: @ella.b.winters
Bluesky: @ella-b-winters.bsky.social
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