Yester-year

waves still sound

a heartbeat laps the shore

the wind still dances in the palms

on these islands

where jagged lava rocks

scale up a volcano

where sear clouds drench sun colors

at the start and close of day

but where has the abundance of spinner dolphins gone?

they used to play leapfrog in great pods

where did the numerous monk seals go

that once rested on warm white sand?

where are the countless birds of the rainforest

watching a skitter of geckos?

where are the lost species of birds

the Indian mongoose ate?

few nene goose remain

they are the rarest of geese in the world

what of the hoary bats

gathering insects in the night?

where’s the hawksbill sea turtle of the coral reefs

killed for decorative shells?

where is this place where no snakes live

and American names like Bishop & Stevens hiss?

where is the hump whale who sings

news of the ancestors?

what has colonization done to the natives of Hawaii

the residents of yesteryear?

***

Dear Putin,

Putin, this conflict between nations is a never-ending story. When I was a girl of seven, I hid in my brothers’ room to write to your predecessor, Mr. Khrushchev. I penciled, “Dear Mr. Krushev, I love you. Please don't kill me and my family. We are nice. If you knew my parents, you would like us. We could be friends.” 

You invade the Ukraine, Russian soldiers target civilians. Little Olena sees her mother die in a shelter. This motherless child wakes up in a hospital with her leg shot off. Her doctor reports, “She won’t eat or talk.”

Seven-year-old Olena is killed when her hospital is bombed. Staff wrap the small body in a hospital sheet. During a lull in the shelling, her body is placed in a mass grave with victims of all ages.  

Olena’s father holds up two photos to a news camera. Tears roll down his cheeks, “I failed to protect my girls—my girls are dead.”

Putin, Olena’s blood sprinkles fuel on the ground. Love for land and people only burns hotter and brighter. You fan the fire that killed her.

Ukrainians retreat underground but they fight hard. Soldiers pop out like moles from a hole, run between houses, toss a grenade. One man can stop a Russian tank. 

In disbelief from the mass grave, a young girl looks at you long, Putin, in a kind of longing.

Yours Truly,

A Cold War Woman

https://www.verse-virtual.org/2022/July/bruck-ingrid-2022-july.html

Date Published: July 1, 2022