tank tracks
shrouded in winter mist
the burnt woods
trees blackened
by a cloud of ravens
blood-stained doll
On a Zoom meeting with his Ukrainian cousin, the Russian blogger pauses for a moment, then responds in a lower voice as if murmuring to himself, “Nobody sees on TV that people are dying. Everyone around me thinks that maybe everything is ok, and we're told it's a special military operation."
His cousin looks tired and has weeks-old stubble. He says with a sigh, "I was issued an automatic rifle yesterday, and my neighbour and I made thirty Molotov cocktails." His words are met with an uncomfortable silence.
basement shelter
empty bottles, tuna cans
and camouflage nets
thunder of gun-fire
another spring arrives
with falling snow
