“In the Meadow, Red Viburnum”
https://theworld.org/stories/2022-12-01/chervona-kalyna-ukrainian-song-has-become-symbol-freedom-and-resilience
A hymn of flowers with red berries
stems Russia’s anger against Ukrainians,
passionate about their land.
Their independence. What harm
can arise from the beauty
of these blooms and berries! Singing
Chervona Kalyna incurs fines. Beatings.
Prison terms for Ukrainian patriots.
Wrath is cast upon the souls
and soil! Upon the young girls
weaving wreaths of tears.
Upon their mothers filling vases
with viburnum. Upon the spill of
their sons’ and brothers’ blood
on the berries.
The shimmer of hope
on the petals never dims
in the defenders’ hearts
though glass shatters. The walls blast
to rubble. Meadows of red viburnum
hold tanks, trenches, cluster bombs.
Collateral damage. Faces covered.
Hands folded across the chest.
Bouquets and prayers
for the fallen.
The free world awaits the return
of meadowlarks singing
“Oh, the Red Viburnum in the Meadow”
for the ghosts of war.
Collateral Damage
Viktoriia’s sign,
“Children are not Nazis!”
My sign promotes compassion, kindness,
unity. With hearts dressed in colors for Ukraine.
The protest on a busy corner daily at 5:00pm.
Viktoriia’s baby naps in a carrier
against a warm bosom
as Putin bombs schools
and soldiers massacre mothers
with newborns.
Honking cars respond with loud wails.
People pull over to get free signs.
STOP RUSSIA!
SAVE LIVES IN UKRAINE!
Viktoriia calls her family there daily.
Another Ukrainian friend
hasn’t heard from her relatives
for weeks now. “We’re hoping
it’s just that
the internet is down.”
But in Mariupol -
mass graves.
Another friend’s elderly father
who has Parkinson’s
is nearly abandoned
as helpers have fled.
She’s on the phone daily
pleading for others
to aid this man in his nineties.
Get him his meds. Some food.
Across the street from our crowd in blue and yellow
stands a bearded man as old as war,
holding his hunched-over sign, “Save Palestine.”
I can see through him
to his dissolving joints. We wave.
He teeters off, still seeking recovery.
Carrying the World in a Broken Laundry Basket
Isn’t easy to do on steep basement stairs. The basket,
filled with the bemired nightmares of the day
stubbornly sticking to threads.
We’re instructed to separate the colours – Why?
Lest they bleed together onto the pristine sheets
worn to the rallies?
Tide Pods. FDA approved for COVID yet?
Is bleach required for stained smiles
behind the masks?
How many cycles are needed
for the urine-soiled carpet
from the U.S. Capitol Building? Can it fit
into my Sears washer,
or is it dry clean only?
Mother always admonished,
Never use the flag pole to beat the rugs!
She’d fuss about this flag,
frayed by the spinning
spinning, tossing and turning
in the fury of the moment
as red puddles spread their arms
on the white and blue.
Is it illegal to hang the wash in the backyard
At half-mast?
I hear that folding laundered funds
is an art. Money runs in hot water.
Instructions in fine print,
Use Free and Clear.
Lay flat ‘til dry.
The overloaded washing machine packs heat.
Makes its rounds.
Ratatatat! Ratatatat!
Ratatatat! Ratatatat!
A shoe caught in the pant leg
Kicks the dryer wall to the step,
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The dryer wheezes. I pull lint
From the ventilator. Press restart.
Then add softener to the last load of hearts.
Barbara Leonhard is
an internationally-known prize-winning poet and Pushcart nominee. Her poetry
appears in several online and print magazines, and anthologies. She is
especially indebted to Well Versed 2021: A Collection of Poetry and
Prose and Spillwords Press for past honors. Her debut poetry
collection, Three-Penny Memories: A Poetic Memoir (Experiments
in Fiction, 2022), which is about her relationship with her mother, who
suffered from Alzheimer’s, is a best seller on Amazon. Barbara is also Editor
for MasticadoresUSA. You can follow her at https://extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog/.
Collateral Damage (previously
published in Spillwords on August 10, 2021 -- but I revised it a bit)
Carrying the World in a Broken Laundry Basket (Published on
Spillwords, April 15, 2021)
Lovely, Barbara! Thanks for publishing these poems, Strider, thank you.
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