Russia, near Moscow
For Luba and Luba’s Mother
When the soldiers
liquidated an apartment
they would observe
the startled flight
Of a mother’s eyes:
at first, sunk and stunned,
They would, at the quick report
of the dog’s bark, or at
a growled word dart,
snap up and, as if
on command, bolt
to a bookcase, a chest,
a broad toolbox, the cabinet--
even the stove was precious
as a hiding place. And that’s
how they were found
and how they were lost:
Always,
in an instant love’s gaze
Reveals its object, quivering
Chava Evans is a rabbi and chaplainin Washington D.C.