Ever since February 24th, my life has been narrowed into brief interludes between air-ride sirens, empty shelves, and the lambent light of basements.
My neighbors have left while I stay put, they say that trains are being bombed.
I know the streets where I’ve grown old, and though my dreams have been replaced by coping, taking care of the stray animals left behind.
At night doubt comes to visit, but with daylight, I’ve decided to stay, for how can I be sure?
I shall see again the world on the first of May I tell myself, but what will world be then? Will Paris have ceased? London? New York?
This place I know, and through the shelling, I hear the leaves are bursting to break.
Soon April will end, then summer arrives, and then with fall, there will be walnuts again.
I stay behind.
Today we write prosery with Merril at dVerse. She has chosen the following part of a poem:
“For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May”
–From “May Day” by Sara Teasdale
To incorporate into your own piece of prose having no more than 144 words. I prefer to match that exactly but you are free to make your own choice.
I am thinking a lot about both the people fleeing the war, but I think it is important to remember also those staying behind.
May 9, 2022