Tonight We Die as a Family by Mohammed El-Kurd

Tonight We Die as a Family

by Mohammed El-Kurd

At the hospital the nurse is startled

a surprise visitor: her husband’s corpse

on a stretcher

he arrived in the backseat of a taxi--

a makeshift hearse.

There are not enough ambulances in Gaza

and more than enough death.

She is livid. Men never listen

I told you wait till after my shift

I need to tend to the wounded first

I told you tonight we die as a family

we were supposed to die

as a family

View of destruction in Rafah, southern Gaza Strip, January 2025. © 2025 UNRWA Photo by Ashraf Amra; Link to this article

Not all great poems start with great titles. Not all great titles lead to great poems. But if you look through my blog--and you can even start with the first poem I posted, You Reading This, Be Ready by William Stafford (September 19, 2021)--you will find an inordinate number of great poems with great titles.

Today's poem is no exception. I do not know how anyone could resist that title. Even if you hate the poem, which I would find surprising, I think you would have to admit the title is incredible.

The first line keeps us going--a startled nurse. Nurses don't get startled, so what gives? We get our answer in the second line--a "surprise visitor" in the form of a corpse, her dead husband. He came to the hospital in a taxi because, we soon learn, there are not enough ambulances in Gaza. So we get more information on the poem's setting and the circumstances.

Line eight is as surprising as the visitor. The nurse we are spending these moments with is angry. Beyond angry. Livid, the poet tells us. "Men never listen" she says. For a second, we think we understand why. He promised to stay inside. Or they live in a safe area and she thinks he did something to attract attention. Or her anger is directed at the war in general. Something that we can, if not relate to, understand.

But the next line, and the rest of this short poem, continue to surprise us. "I told you" is repeated, as if the crazy grief we all experience when someone we love dies has taken over.

"I told you" I have to do my job first.

Then we can die. Together.

Did she say this every day as she headed to her job at the hospital? Was this a grim joke they told one another?

You can write "war is bad" ten thousand times, but it is the specifics of a poem that let people see that war is bad. This short lyric poem tells us so much just by allowing us into a couple of minutes into one nurse's life. And that is the power of poetry.

El-Kurd is a twenty-seven-year-old Palestinian poet. This poem was published in a British literary journal, The Poetry Review, Spring 2024, issue 114:1. You can access their page to subscribe, read, submit, and enjoy by clicking here.