I heard the news: The war is on.
As I sit here, I hear no bombs.
I hear the frogs from the nearby pond,
I hear a new bird song,
I think I heard two bats screech on.
The war is far away from home.
“The forum included presentations from prominent flying foxes researchers from local, state and federal government… Russia launched a large-scale military invasion of Ukraine.”
Stop!
Let’s try again.
“The forum was part of the Improving Landscape Resistance of Climate Change… 1 million people have now fled Ukraine since Russia’s invasion.”
Here I go:
My mind goes home.
I try to lure it back to where I am:
This is now home!
I argue that I should read on.
I follow sentences with my finger to help move on.
But it’s the images of tanks and crying children
That occupy my mind.
The war is here,
Albeit I smell the rain
And not the ash or gasoline.
Let’s try again:
“These principles, together with identified gaps in knowledge, require further investigation… among Ukrainian troops, 2,870 have been killed.”
Okay, I get the hint.
I put away the papers,
Pull out my journal
And I write:
Too close to home…
I hear the bombs, the sirens, and the cries
14,000 kilometres away,
Because my home has birthed a war.
It’s thrown me back under the desk
Where I resided as a five year old
When my family had fought:
They fought each other.
It made no sense.
My plea and begging didn’t matter –
Everyone got hurt.
As I watch on
My home invades another world,
And I recall
That everybody gets to hurt:
It’s just too close to home.