Day 353

The boy was making dinner
for himself and his father.
A little zucchini, a little rice.
Not much food, but better than nothing.
He added an onion, a slice of garlic.
When you have practically nothing
it’s all delicious, the boy 
was thinking,  His father
had taught him to cook, was
proud of him, was out
doing what work he could find.
When you have practically nothing
you do what you can.  The boy
was standing in the kitchen, the smell
of onion, garlic, oil filling
the air, overcoming the stench
outside the window 
of rotting garbage, rotting corpses.
Then suddenly a neighbor
burst through the door, his face
ashen, his hands shaking.
There was a sniper, he said.
Your father is dead, he said.
The boy stood over the stove,
stirring the zucchini, the onion, the garlic.
What will my life be now?
Who will come and eat with me now?