“Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and cultivate faithfulness.”

From among the shards of glass

she picked up the intact flower pot,

its compact soil safe within,

and placed it on the splintered sill

(where the kitchen window had been

before the Russian missile blast

destroyed the school across the street)

and on it dribbled water from

her butterfly mug

with which she’d scooped

a little bit from underneath

the thin skin of wrinkled ice

fragile atop the rationed store of

what little was left in her bathroom tub.