Ava

She waits patiently for her
husband to arrive home from work.
You can see her in the cellar window,

in the kitchen baking cookies.
A pot roast simmers in the oven
with onions and potatoes, carrots,

so hard to find with a war going on.
But soon he will be home, she'll hear
his boots upon the floor, and she will

put on some blush, his favorite dress,
some lipstick and perfume.
She will pour the wine brought home

from Paris, so many crates to choose
from. And together with a group
of dear friends they will eat and toast,

celebrate another day alive. But her
husband will be tired. Ending the world
and the extermination of millions

is exhausting. There are only so many
hours in a day. But they will sing
and laugh loudly together, trying hard

not to be drowned out by the bombs
that shake the bunker and drop
dust into their plates.