Day 1,031

She writes a line. Deletes it.
Writes it again, exchanging
one word for another.
Adds punctuation. Deletes it.
Writes four lines. Five.
Feels she’s beginning to say
what she set out to say.
Meanwhile, close to where
her family is living, air strikes
are happening. Explosions.
Fires. She keeps writing.
Thinking. Deleting. Pondering
line breaks, whether to start
a line with a capital letter
or not. Posing meticulous
points of craft
against the rubble. The thunderous
noise. The ruin
around her. Meanwhile food
is still scarce. Internet connection
on and off. She writes
another line. Another.
Begins to feel the poem,
despite everything
that would impede it,
is taking shape.