Boiled Fish & Vodka



Boiled Fish & Vodka

The sunset after a bombing is especially beautiful. It must have something to do with the dust and the smoke. The way light passes through particles. Another version of a rainbow.

Ana and Dimitri sit on a pile of shattered stone and charred wood. The concrete is still warm and a good place to rest. The strangers gaze upon home. Minsk. A flock of dazed starlings wander their erased world, black specks moving across the red flag sky, searching for a place to perch.

They share a pot of boiled fish and pass a bottle of vodka back and forth. It feels wrong to, but they smile. They grip one another’s hand.

The news will say that German bombs fell from the clouds. But Ana and Dimitri share a different theory. God punched the earth, and God missed them. Or did his calloused fingers push them together?

The two will wonder about this in front of the altar. The two will wonder about this in the presence of children and grandchildren. The two will share a familiar meal every June 24th. They will pull back the curtains and look at the sunset and they will not let go of one another’s hand. They will stare and they will wonder if anything can compare to boiled fish and vodka.