Day 482/Ceasefire Day 12

Fragments of lives —
shattered, unrecognizable.
The rubble ground to nothing, bulldozed.
Impossible to tell there was even
a house here, a block of houses.
The child has walked his small dog
all the way from the south, 
a rope for a leash.  He arrives at last
with his father at the place
his father thinks was home.
The dog sniffs what seems like
nothing but broken stones. 
Sniffs, stops.  Is this the place?
Was this where the garden was?
Was this where the wall was
with windows that looked out
on the rows of vegetables?   
The dog sniffs and sniffs.  The boy
stands, watching her.  The father,
too, watches the dog, wonders
what she has found.  Sunlight
falls on his shoulder.  He wipes
his eyes, remembering.