The ground vibrates from the bombs. We huddle in the corner, my children crying beneath me. Mother’s picture shakes from the wall and shatters.
The blue of sky, the clean rocky mountains – all is obscured by the dust and fire of the bombs. The chalk of collapsed buildings is on our tongues. My children do not know why the men run with rifles, do not understand the destruction.
Vehicles rumble down the street. I pray silently to the Virgin to protect us. I pray harder than even when Josef died.
A hard boot strikes the door.
I close my eyes.