Day 669

They’re burning rubber. They’re burning
old tires. They’re burning books
they loved, books they’d been given, books
they used in school, books
they bought and never read. They’re
burning clothes that are too big, clothes
their grandmothers wore when
they were alive, clothes their children
wore before they were killed. They’re burning their mothers’ shoes,
their fathers’ jackets,
tablecloths they used for years, shawls.
They’re burning the remnants
of their lives, of years, so they can
cook the scant rice, the pasta, the canned
lentils that may, if they’re lucky,
keep them alive one more day.