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There is lead dawn at the Gate of the House. I wake up in Ukraine, the wind tickles the leaves and bends the beige grasses.
I feel fear, and notice the block full of holes. Eyes shine in the basement. Someone is running in sneakers to the grocery store, although it is still closed. The rumble of missiles mingles with the loud chirping of early spring. I reach into the drawer and take out my favorite bead necklace which was hand-painted by a Ukrainian woman met by my niece in Wrocław. Orange-red berries in the grass – this is people who fight, it could be you and me awakened in a war.