Day 585

Worms in the flour.  Insects.
They’re feeding on the last flour
we have to feed
ourselves.  We will pick them out
with our fingers, shape
the flour into loaves, eat
the last loaf of bread
and wonder if this
will be our last day, as
we have wondered
for all these days.
So what if the bread
makes us sick?  We
are sick already.  So what
if the fire we light
to bake the bread
is built from wood we’ve gathered
from shattered tables, chairs?
Is it better to get sick from eating
than not to eat at all?  Better
to die than be exiled
one more time?  Better to sleep
together, all in one tent,
should the planes of destruction
sweep over this place,
than for some of us to live
and grieve the others?