SHELLEY TWITCHIN
Ode to the Ordinary
For Gaza
The morning cup; the leaky window pane;
the supper’s on the table, half past six;
the later-than-expected crowded train;
the fallen frame we never seem to fix.
No rafting on whitewater—wade the stream;
no snow-capped peaks, just endless rolling plain.
A sleep that’s neither deep nor fraught with dreams;
your “dull but manageable” shoulder pain.
No fireworks, just clear and starry skies;
no Michelin Stars – three squares for every child;
a ballot-box no government denies;
its citizens that cannot be beguiled.
An orange desert morning breaks ahead;
in temples, mosques, a mourning of the dead.
Shelley Twitchin is a Kentucky-born London‑based poet whose work explores embodiment, time, and everyday rituals, often through domestic and sacred lenses. She was a two‑time finalist for the Joy Bale Boone Poetry Award, and her poems have appeared in Heartland Review and Kentucky Monthly.
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