Day 72

A child digs in the rubble.  This was her home.
She bends, dark hair covering her face.
How thin she is, how much younger she seems
than her age.  She digs.  Digs.  Frees something
that looks like cloth.  Pulls on it, digs more.
At last she extricates it from the concrete slabs,
holds it a moment to her face. 
A gray stuffed elephant, intact,
Like nothing else she has been able to find.
Small.  Worn. Still smelling of what’s gone.