The Riots

We were given a curfew on the second day.

Clouds filling windows were replaced by soot

and ash from the burned out market on the corner.

We lost the smell of buttered beetroot, Wissotzky tea

and kishke; a tendril of root infiltrated a crack

in the floorboards. We kept our distance and let it grow

in disbelief. Someone said we should kill it

before it gets too strong. Hours, maybe even days,

went by as we hid waiting for attacks and looting

to end. At times, when the door opened, a waft of wind

made its way to those unfolding leaves

waving like the curtains out of blown out windows.