My Grandmother

My grandmother is a hero-- this actually happened during WWII.

My grandmother would begin by

telling me to imagine hunger, try

to understand the feeling of

emptiness inside. Then, her story.

Her parents had left to get their clothes

repaired, old, tattered shirts and ripped pants.

Her six sisters were not aware

of the changes the war brought,

they were already used to it. The

silence of sadness, broken by

bombing. The tranquility of

stillness, broken by explosions

shaking the ground, pushing

books from the shelf, forcing

blocks from the ceiling. My grandmother

herded her younger sisters,

moved them under the staircase,

the strongest part of the house.

Their parents came back with

fixed-up clothes and found the girls

standing between rubble.

Standing, alive.

Author's Note

What do you think of the line breaks in the poetry?