runners pool, sidle up amid the constant daily rush

in a tight blanketed circle.

I imagine them weary until they make it

heard with care:

creaky chairs and whispers, text read aloud

they look up, tell me it is poetry

it’s Iam, I–am

he says so, eyes glassy with fatigue and his name

short for something familiar.

as he shambles through the picket with belief

heavy on his tongue

there’s a bible

in his hand, as is his song

tonight’s sky promises

a chilly rain

on our backs, still

Maggie rustles the tarp.

she designs to sleep outside

for here in the city

it is only when we look to Gaza

that we seem to see the stars

lock-armed and mealy mouthed atop us

the blockade begins to sing

and cross-legged

fetal below

we join

hold fast a choir for the building above:

we shall not, we shall not be moved

we shall not, we shall not be moved

just like a tree, that’s standing by the water

                     we shall not be moved 

Mason is a recent graduate of Columbia University.

Featured image of the Gaza Solidarity Encampment at Columbia University by Mason.