For the first time
I think of our apartment.
Is the building still standing?
Is everything on the floor?
Then, quietly,
people wander into the shop,
carrying food and other things,
setting them on the workbench
or near the window.
Asking if they can rest here.
It is one of the oldest stores in town.
Maybe they feel safe here, with us.
Soon there are families
sitting together in picnics,
like the park in the summer.
My grandfather calls me over,
pointing to everyone.
Like Shabbos, right?
Mr. Dimitri tunes his radio in,
7.0 on the Richter scale,
and we know that’s a high number.