lessons.

I find Hamoud again, this time with a broken box and a single kitten, smaller this time. Hamoud-sized. Even so, he looks like he feels big, standing there holding it, this kitten even younger than he is.

He peers down over the top of the cardboard. The kitten peers up. They say something to each other, something beyond Hamoud’s little voice answering the man behind the camera. Something beyond the tiny mew of the kitten as it tries to suss out what kind of creature is holding it upright. This kitten has things to learn, after all, if it’s going to survive here. This kitten has to learn things that Hamoud has already started to learn to do, even if he doesn’t understand any of them, even if he doesn’t know why he does them.

And this is what Hamoud does:

• He places the box down (gently gently gently)

• He picks up the kitten (gently gently gently)

• He places the kitten down (gently gently gently in the dirt in the dirt in the dirt)

And what does the kitten do? This is what it must learn:

• The kitten runs (away away, into a wall)

• The kitten turns back (safety safety, back to the box)

• The kitten sees danger and turns back again (faster faster, away from Hamoud, whatever he is, whatever he wants, whatever he does)

And what is the lesson?

Hamoud chases the kitten, catches the kitten, hauls the kitten back (still gently gently gently). Places it back in its box. Back in safety.

Learn how to run, how to see danger, how to find safety.

Learn that all of these things may be the same thing, sometimes. Learn how to do them anyway.

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https://www.instagram.com/p/DBtnTaVOEy3/

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