Child’s Memory

The cold clings to dreams,

Frozen like scattered toys, in the dust of what was home.

While others light candles,

We count the stars through holes

Where our ceiling used to be,

Remember when grandmother

Named constellations for us, told stories of ancient heroes who never faced such dragons.

Now we trace new patterns In the debris of our street, looking for familiar shapes In a world reshaped by thunder.

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