Day 357

Two children walk 
through a garden
they’ve made
in the midst of tents.
Vegetables, fruit. How
are they watering them, 
that they’ve grown
so green, so large?
Fragrance of jasmine,
oregano, sage.  Difficult
not to believe hope is useless.
Unbearable to look
at the blank expressions,
the shuffling walks,
the night sky
populated not by stars
but by warplanes. Yet the children
are laughing, running, bending
to look at what was not ripe
just days ago but today
will be harvested, eaten.