She turns the music way up loud
and listens to the sounds,
the tunes, the words, the notes
that disguise the mortar rounds.
“Home” for now is plywood,
ringed with bags of sand
and the familiar songs bring comfort
like the clasping of a hand.
She cranks the song up higher
and listens while the sounds
of night and jets and steel guitars
drown out the mortar rounds.

©Christina Sharik
August 17, 1999