Doug Roy, Ukrainian Sunflower, Cut Paper
Rivers Carry the War Forward
- The Crossing
We crossed where the bridge had been.
The air smelled of iron and burnt wheat.
Someone’s scarf hung from a tree branch.
My mother said, Do not look back.
When even the river,
carrying us away,
kept turning to see what it lost—
how could I not.
- After the Crossing
Night folded around us
like the thin blanket at the camp.
I could hear others breathing—
men, women, a child whispering
a language without a homeland.
Sleep came in fragments:
the body home,
the soul still walking.
III. Remains
When silence arrived,
it was an emptiness
too careful to disturb the ache in the feet.
I found my sister’s shoes
facing east.
She must have thought
she would need them
where she was going.
_______________
Sheema Kalbasi
Review by Bruce Parker
Understated, calm, a timely reflection of the wounds caused by war. But I wonder if the last stanza was meant to be
She must have thought
she wouldn’t need them
where she was going?
Makes more sense, check with Ms Kalbasi. Very good poem.