War Crimes

My daughter Natalie would be in school today and her private math tutor would be visiting at night and then I would be reading her a night time story of a Viking girl who braved the oceans. But at this hour Natalie isn't feeling good, has slight fever from miles of walking to the Polish border and the long hours of futile wait in the car before we abandoned it on the roadside. She misses her stuff puppy we left behind, too disheartened to fathom we may never return. War refugees in an instant, and a life of discontinuity worth escaping the Russian slavery. I've stopped shouting and am not angry anymore, just the pain, and the void.