[162 words]
I climbed you,
O cold mountain
and just as I neared the summit,
I lost my fingers.
They fell from me
like chalk slips
from the hand of a child
who doesn’t know the answer.
I waited for a hungry wolf
to dangle from the ledge
and pull at my clothes
instead came a man
so full he looked like a ghost.
Yet I felt his thirst
more than his hunger
felt his drooling mouth
like a flood
that shattered the dam of his lips,
spilling onto my cheek
like needle pricks.
The wolf does not eat
a fingerless girl,
and the girl
cannot thank
a thirsty wolf.
So we curled up
side by side
at the edge of the mountain
and opened our hearts
like an orphaned child
unpacking his schoolbag
for a mother
he has never seen.
We opened our hearts
to ravenous contemplation,
and left the abyss
listening to us
as a mother listens
to her child’s first dream.
Marwa Radi Abu Raida is a displaced Palestinian writer from Gaza. Her literary work explores themes of identity, exile, silence, and justice through poetry, fiction, and reflective essays. She recently received an Honorable Mention at the 2025 State of the Art Festival. Marwa’s writing has been recognized for its philosophical depth and emotional intensity, often weaving personal history with broader cultural memory. She writes in both Arabic and English, aiming to bridge languages and landscapes. Her recent work includes translations and meditations on place, loss, and the inner lives of those erased from dominant narratives.
