The Truth About Tigers

Mariupol, Ukraine, 2024

Please, step inside. Make yourself at home.
War rages beyond boarded windows,
but the kettle sings on the stove,
a small song of peace.

Can I offer you black tea,
perhaps something stronger?
We should be safe here,
held together by luck and prayer.

This table?
Built by my grandfather,
his hands strong as the maple he shaped
into something that lasts.


I’ve never seen eyes like yours,
the color of Azov water,
two feet below the surface
on a full-moon night 
in high summer.

A night like tonight, once captivating,
now burns like a curse.
Tin roofs shine like beacons,
calling bombers above,
drawing spotters along the ridge.

But this will all be over soon,
one way or another.

Time rolls on like the wide river,
past the hill where we bury the memories
that once held names.

Written in 2024 after reading a NYT article about courtship in wartime Ukraine.