Day 371

The girl’s aunt has been raising her in a shelter
since the girl’s parents were killed.  The girl
is talking about how they dug her out of the rubble,
how she called to the rescuers in a weak voice,
how much pain she was in, how her arms
afterward had to be amputated. I loved 
to draw, she says.  And my mother
was teaching me to knit. Six days
into the second year, no end
to this in sight. I don’t know,
she says, what else I will lose.  Now she is talking
about how they feed people at the shelter —
one meal a day — and how her aunt
gives her food from her own plate, because
she is growing.  She dreams sometimes
that her arms are growing back, that she can grasp
a fork again, a knife.  Hold someone’s hand.