Suzanne Berger: Garment: Afghanistan

Is she sewing a rag, a piece of tapestry?
                Is it white, is it yellow,
      is it beige and tattered, with somehow
                     a lace border, a bright-colored band?

Is there dust in the cloth, has it been
            washed over and over
                        is there water?

When the bomb splays near the edge of her tent
             is the needle halfway through its work
         on the sleeve, on the stricken skirt—
                        through the broken, through the noise?

Is the pain like a needle shattering in,
              does the needle fly
                           from her hands, or stay there?

Does the bomb fit over
                and in her body, entirely?