The Poet's Room

Bitter Child of Memory-- Kiev Ukraine NOW IN THE THIRD WEEK of Putin’s invasion of Ukraine. The brutal ugly specter of Joseph Stalin manifests. The Russian military brags they have destroyed all bridges around Mariupol. Leaving nearly half a million Ukrainian citizens without food, water, or electricity.  W hile missiles and artillery rain down on Ukrainians huddled in basements and bunkers, I sit in a comfortable office chair, the sun streaming through the window, a cup of freshly made coffee perched on my desk. Yesterday afternoon I drove to a nearby grocery store with shelves filled to overflowing with all the imaginable food a person could want or need. A cornucopia. A bakery filled with nearly every imaginable bread and sweet treat. I brought home bags full of groceries. Our ample larder, a bounty thanks to earth, water, soil and the farmers and farm families that diligently plant and harvest.  As a free American, sipping my coffee I’m a bit dazed although not surprised by Putin’