3 May 2022 On Russia's Invasion of Ukraine
It will go
To the wrong
Town. And
Others
insulated
Their windows.
Questioning and
Examining stragglers.
They didn’t.
You sleep
On an old chest.
The unbleached
Planks of the room.
The second snapshot
Was of a woman
And a little boy.
His mother who
Seemed to be
Explaining something
to him.
People asked to be
Taken along with them.
Between four and five
In the morning. But
Today even the last
Few. And in this rain.
The bread which was
Brought. Would say
Without envy.
“Well then,” he says,
“I’ll give you
One question”…
untitled
We don't celebrate birthdays
or go to each other's funerals anymore.
Ever since the sun
dropped out of the sky.
Beware of self-
fulfilling prophecies,
You have said.
I hear you!
But the trajectory
of my life
has shifted
intercontinentally.
Are you even alive?
Nestled in a borderline
village hut on the Dniepr...
Fishing for whatever
the river brings as it hugs
its God forsaken shores.
Meanwhile I wear
my survivor's guilt like a heart
on a sleeve, misquoting
Adorno as I disengage
myself from the vicissitudes
of being torn asunder.
Tatiana Retivov received a B.A. in English Literature from the University of Montana and an M.A. in Slavic Languages and Literature from the University of Michigan. She has lived in Kyiv, Ukraine since 1994, where she runs an Art & Literature Salon and a small publishing press, that publishes prose, poetry, and non-fiction in Ukraine.
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