The Gray Crumbling
I used to roll inside a blanket
hide from the blood-soaked wide-eyed;
mind shuttered, ears deep into
the soul of a candlewick womb.
At such times, dad would enter my bedroom,
tickle my ribs until I had to laugh.
Today, grey blocks are crumbling,
the wide-eyed are being eradicated,
because they are really, basically
ethnically not Ukrainian,
the great encirclement is chomping.
and there is no candlewick comfort,
just wide eyes.
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