I visited Gaza in my sleep
By Sophia Carroll
I worked in a medical tent. Do they still have medical tents? I’m not a doctor but in my dream, I could tell who we could save by touching them. Some people burned from infection. I knew we didn’t have medicine. I heard mothers scream, that sound that predates language. I hugged a boy of fourteen. He had no one. I wanted to take him home but that is impossible. Are we still free? He said he was coming back to fight, to avenge his family. I meant to birth a baby. Went to wash my hands and was suddenly in the kitchen of the house I grew up in, as if I could go back and forth like my money. As if I could wash my hands. They’re still dirty.
Sophia Carroll (she/they) is an analytical chemist and writer. Her work appears in wildness, SmokeLong Quarterly, Rust & Moth, and elsewhere. She is also the co-founder of M E N A C E, a magazine for the literary weird. Find her on Substack at Torpor Chamber and on Bluesky @torpor-chamber.bsky.social.
Photo by Damien Walmsley via a Creative Commons license.
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