Before they drop the bombs.

The phone rings

and someone who knows my first name

calls and says in perfect Arabic

This is David.�

And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass shattering symphonies

still smashing around in my head

I think Do I know any Davids in Gaza?�

They call us now to say

Run.

You have 58 seconds from the end of this message.

Your house is next.

They think of it as some kind of war time courtesy.

It doesnt matter that

there is nowhere to run to.

It means nothing that the borders are closed

and your papers are worthless

and mark you only for a life sentence

in this prison by the sea

and the alleyways are narrow

and there are more human lives

packed one against the other

more than any other place on earth

Just run.

We arent trying to kill you.

It doesnt matter that

you cant call us back to tell us

the people we claim to want arent in your house

that theres no one here

except you and your children

who were cheering for Argentina

sharing the last loaf of bread for this week

counting candles left in case the power goes out.

It doesnt matter that you have children.

You live in the wrong place

and now is your chance to run

to nowhere.

It doesnt matter

that 58 seconds isnt long enough

to find your wedding album

or your sons favorite blanket

or your daughters almost completed college application

or your shoes

or to gather everyone in the house.

It doesnt matter what you had planned.

It doesnt matter who you are

Prove youre human.

Prove you stand on two legs.

Run.