Day 530

For a short while you returned.
Eight weeks!  It was like
the dream of return
your grandmother held
as long as she lived, until
the bomb came for her one night
in her bed.  For a short while 
you surveyed the jagged stones
that had been your house.
Held one, then another,
remembering rooms,
floors, walls of bookshelves.
For a short while
you held the dream
that return was possible.  Was
granted.  You piled
one stone on another,
imagined tables, chairs.  Long
afternoons by the window, watching
your children play
in the garden you’d plant again,
safe behind the fence you’d rebuild.
Now you’ve been told to leave
once more.  Now you turn, call
your children’s names.  Slip
one small stone into
your pocket.  Press it
into your hand.