Day 573

Of all her children, only one remains,
and that one is in the hospital,
a serious wound to his stomach. 
They were all in the kitchen
and then there was nothing:  no
walls. No stove, no cups or plates.
The youngest had been playing
on the floor.  The older ones
sitting, talking.  Their father
trying to read something
by the small light of his phone.
Tell me:  how does a whole life
disappear in an instant?  How
does a mother stand up,
clearing the things that collapsed
on top of her, and start looking
for her children?  This one
in her pink dress, blown in half.
That one without arms or legs.
How does she count them?  How
will she bury them?  And how
will she keep this one living child
alive, with no gauze, no pain medicine, no
antibiotics?  The cans of food
they’d been storing,
nearly used up.