The Riots

We were given a curfew on the second day. Clouds filling windows were replaced by soot and ash from the burned out market on the corner. We lost the smell of buttered beetroot, Wissotzky tea and kishke; a tendril of root infiltrated a crack in the floorboards. We kept our distance and let it grow in disbelief. Someone said we should kill it before it gets too strong. Hours, maybe even days, went by as we hid waiting for attacks and looting to end. At times, when the door opened, a waft of wind made its way to those unfolding leaves waving like the curtains out of blown out windows.