Midnight was like midday as illumination flares
were dropped to light up the city.
– Rania Elhilou, ‘Crisis in Gaza’, Anera.org
The ceasefire was brief. Now the shelling
has resumed. The streets are silent
as if even the buildings are holding their breath,
tensing themselves for impact
or aftershock. Midnight is like midday.
A fuel dump goes up. The power station falters.
Windows drained of light are like eyes
squeezed shut to keep from seeing. Silhouettes
of apartments merge with an older
deeper darkness. Midnight is like midday.
Illumination flares scream over like mortars,
plugging the sky into a split-second
treachery of sheet lightning, making an x-ray
of the city. A photograph in negative
writing its own headline. Midnight is like midday.
Neil Fulwood was born in Nottingham in 1972. He is the author of three film studies books, including ‘The Films of Sam Peckinpah’. His poetry has been published in The Black Light Engine Room, Butcher’s Dog, Lunar Poetry, Monkey Kettle, The Writers’ Hub and Ink Sweat & Tears, and he has work forthcoming in Domestic Cherry and Art Decades.