I write every morning. These morning poems are a catchment of what is running through my thoughts, things in the news, or my frustrations. These poems came from watching my great-grandmother’s hometown in Ukraine be destroyed.
Morning wisps
Echoes
Press noses on predawn glass
Backlit by the dimming night walkers the
Early writers
Slipping their cocoons and shaking their still wet wings
Ritual
Carrying some across their shoulders into these hours
Ritual of water
Preparation
Closure
News from Ukraine and
Debates on the various selected hypocritical curios
Declarations of why you should or shouldn’t be upset about the bombing
Debates on the per weight value of one refugee against another
A catalog of planetary conspiracy to commit opinion
Some map the global distribution of evil
A difficult measure at the best of times
I like to hope that people are capable of emotional evolution
Another thing that resists graphs
And other calculations
Window glass is fogged with the hot breath of my formerly held beliefs
Skins that I have shed
Skins that I will stitch into something I’m happier with
Maybe first
Another mug of tea•
This poem appears in the Summer 2022 issue of Alta Journal.
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