Choice

This poem about Ukraine came to me with the iconic image of Russian nesting dolls.

Lately, the news has been so full of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. The amazing and courageous reporting relays heart-rending stories, and images, equally as potent as the heavily-accented words.

I have collected a few here but cannot hope to do the situation justice. All I know is, despite hours on Pinterest, gazing at bathroom walls and floors for a planned renovation, I will never look at subway tiles the same way again.

May this end in peace and independence for Ukraine.

The nesting dolls

Upon the shelf

In red and gold and black

Are chattering their

Teeth and bracing

For the next attack.

The tray upon

The foyer table

Gapes its lacquered rose.

The children in

The tunnels huddle,

Rub their chilly toes.

We watch the billows,

Gray, of smoke

Above the towers tall.

We see the columns,

Grim, approach

To breech our city wall.

The mother grips

A tiny hand.

The train, it has no seats,

For thousands wait,

In noxious clouds

Of virus and of heat.

The snow swirls round

The young reporter,

Coats his tousled hair.

It’s five a.m.

Perched high, he chose

To brave the rocket’s glare.

That child enclosed

By subway tiles

Did not choose to be there.

Copyright 2022 Andrea LeDew

For a reminder of what the US has done in the past, in similar circumstances to Ukraine’s, read The World Police. For another look at the difficulties of choice and letting another choose for you, read You Choose.