The Beads from Ukraine

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To Ukraine

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.

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2 Comments The Beads from Ukraine

  1. Sharon Watts 27 February 2022 at 16:45

    I knew that you would create a poetic connection to the horror happening. Why does that make me feel safer? Because basic humanity is what we all have, or ALL we have. We are not passive—our empathy and poetic missives might, just might, match the missiles and win.

    Reply
    1. Blue Tram 27 February 2022 at 20:04

      Thanks, Sharon! I am glad you felt what I felt between very simple words. Hopefully, this horror will stop as soon as possible.

      Reply

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