In northeast Ohio, the snow is lightly
falling. My dogs watch from the bed.
I pour my spouse another cup of coffee,
mentioning this news.
“That’s what happens when you bomb people,” he replies.
The situation remained combustible, with protesters
vowing to camp outside the compound
indefinitely.
I think
about my daily to do list. It doesn’t include
“camp outside the compound.”
I remain
frozen.
