hamoud.

Hamoud carries his love out before him like a prize. Like a promise. Like proof. He carries it down a dirt road towards the camera, an armful, a shoulderful, a bodyful.

[Hamoud carries his cat down a dusty road.]

He walks in that way that little kids walk when they’ve been given an important job to do. When they’re asked to carry the milk into the house after a grocery trip. When they’re shown how to hold their baby sibling for the first time. Hips out in front, a careful sway to his step, a firm grip on his responsibility.

[On his cat.]

Hamoud’s cat looks like the kind of cat who only sometimes tolerates being pet. It is the kind of cat that, in a normal time, would demand to be put down. But not today. Not this time.

[The name “Hamoud” means praise. The one who is praised. Much praising to God.]

Hamoud carries his cat down a dusty road.

“See what I have,” he says without saying. “See what I carry. It is heavy, but it is not heavier than I can bear. It is big, but it is not bigger than I am. It is fierce, but I love it, and it trusts me.”

[When he reaches the camera, the cat looks up. It sees a chance. It climbs over his shoulder, claws and all. It’s still a cat, after all. No matter what kind of time it lives in.]

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Read more from mypoetmuse and project creator, Matt Cantor @Gaza_Closed_Captions