Slava Ukraine

Fields of golden wheat

‘neath skies of blue, fluttering.

Bristled stocks reach skyward.

Roots mingle with strewn

corpses, repose, unburied.

Sunflower petals

unfurl. Blood like dew

gathers, beads of garnets drop

onto the hearth soil.

Seeds of hope carried

in pockets sprout. Symbol of

strength and persistence.

Brave volunteers fall,

others strive on for freedom.

I am not Ukrainian. My ancestors who were are too far back to even note. I do have very recent eastern European ancestry. My great grandpa was from the Czech Republic. I often feel a loss that a part of my culture was lost to me when he died. My grandpa lost his father and his mother when he was very young 7 years old. So he was raised by his American grandparents. He never learned to speak his father’s language or participated in Czech culture. I wish I knew more about this side of my family. I watch the war in Ukraine with the same horror all humanity should feel but I do feel a connection with those of eastern European background. Perhaps I shouldn’t feel this way, cultures and languages differ. But I still can’t help feeling a geographic kinship, after all I may still have relatives in this region that feels the growing threat and aggression of Russia.

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