beyond the rooftops
and scorned trees
against a sky where little falls
without record
masha melts snow for tea.

living has become constant listening.
broke back houses and twisted trees
give small shelter.
masha lives like her cat
listening for small sounds

she waits by grey ashen mounds
of what was once her garden,
a hole in the ground
that had been her bedroom.

she drinks her thin tea and waits.
she knows the soldiers
will come soon,
they always do.
they took her husband
they'll be back for more.
soldiers always arrive without warning

peace comes in small doses.
when is does come
it comes when you're not listening.
it crawls through thick air
muddied words and broken promises.

masha drinks her tea
pets her cat
and waits.