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War

A poem

Photo by Stephanie LeBlanc on Unsplash

Ukraine, home of my great grandmother
until her family fled pogroms

so she became a teenage young woman
in Britain

Long black hair to her waist
brushed every evening ritual
she saw my Dad become a teenager
I wish I had known him then too

Tanks in Ukraine, missiles, attrition
my Dad would weep, did I tell my girl
Jewish on both sides I am
so my daughter is an Irish Jew

The Bolsheviks shook Ukraine
proud they stood although annexed
the collective memory is strong
we find it hard to give in to idiots

My husband drove a tank over me
bulldozed me but no submission

I took my girl and put her first
my ex-husband also needs to change

His youngest brother recently died
no grief for him, but had to tell me
not looking at me, but scribing our words
I, too, am dying but don’t bother to waste words

My mother drove a tank over me
but I fought back
, despite hairbrushes
broken by hitting me
, biting me,
I was saved by my early years with Oma

Being loved early in life empowered
I had resilience and my loving Dad
he carried me when I was unable to walk
the scent of his neck was the best perfume

I am standing up, only just
trying to reduce the pain that wracks

I am content but exhausted
sleep I crave, sleep, not dreams

My body is at war with itself
a war that is taking its toll

let me go, please let me go
I’ve been so kind so generous, please?

524

3

524

3

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By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by madswirl.com and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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