My Beautiful Birds

As the sun peeks over the dunes to greet the new day, we arrive at the camp. Helpful hands welcome us in. We made it. We are safe.
A peaceful hush settles across the vast sea of shelters, but I can only hear loud booming in my head. I’m still scared. Mother wraps us up in rough blankets. We snuggle close and give in to sleep.
Days blur together in a gritty haze. All I have left are questions. What will we do? How long will we be here?
Father plants a garden. Neighbors open small shops.
Mother cooks makdous and flat bread.
But I am not hungry.
Sometimes the dry wind wafts soft music through the camp. I shiver, remembering the songs I would hum to my birds. I wish they were here.
I wish it were like it used to be, just me and my
pigeons up on our rooftop with the wind and the boundless sky. Happy. Free.