Under a Ukrainian Roof
A man gathers men
to help him bundle
clusters of thatch,
layers of living
and dead stems,
to repair his roof,
protect the little bed
and diminutive chair
his father once carved
for him to climb in.
He levels his ladder
with a Christmas card
bearing cherubic faces,
children his daughter’s
age. Above her bed,
a wooden window box
painted with sunflowers
holds a blue pitcher
from which his wife pours
nothing but admiration.
Before the roof settles,
a blanket of cluster bombs
shrouds the house,
fireballing the little bed,
the blue pitcher,
so many flower heads.