Veiled Poem by Michael Burch

She has belief
without comprehension
and in her crutchwork shack
she is
much like us...

tamping the bread
into edible forms,
regarding her children
at play
with something akin to relief...

ignoring the towers ablaze
in the distance
because they are not revelations
but things of glass,
easily shattered...

and if you were to ask her,
she might say—
sometimes God visits his wrath
upon an impious nation
for its leaders' sins,

and we might agree:
seeing her mutilations.