by Cristina M. R. Norcross
Pregnant women and children were caught in the bombing of the hospital in Mariupol. —The Mirror (UK), March 10, 2022 |
“Congress of Peoples for Peace" by Frida Kahlo (1952) |
Debris, like ticker tape confetti,
still floats in the air,
as the camera lens captures
a young mother’s silhouette,
protective hand holding her half-moon curve.
I spot the side of her cheek and eyebrow
dotted with streaks of blood,
where shards of glass or wood must have
swept past her, mercifully missing
her vulnerable nest within.
A Frida Kahlo painting appears on my screen,
while breaking news continues to drone.
Both moon and sun spheres glow on the canvas.
A tree of life, bursting with oranges,
grows before my eyes.
A mother hen sits impossibly on top,
as if keeping eggs warm on the highest branch.
The little girl’s song in the shelter
lingers from last night,
stays with me, as I walk through the house.
I hear her honeyed, hopeful voice
even as I fall asleep.
Her letting go of sound, word, voice, outcome
is the bravest note I have ever heard.
We sing ourselves into a new day,
an insistent melody
where sound itself holds the promise
of survival,
proof that beyond the bombs and tanks overhead,
rooted in the cellar of Ukraine’s earth,
is a chorus of people who believe.
Cristina M. R. Norcross lives in Wisconsin and is the editor of Blue Heron Review. Author of 9 poetry collections, a multiple Pushcart Prize nominee, and an Eric Hoffer Book Award nominee, her most recent collection is The Sound of a Collective Pulse (Kelsay Books, 2021). Cristina’s work appears in: Visual Verse, Your Daily Poem, Poetry Hall, Verse-Virtual, The Ekphrastic Review, and Pirene’s Fountain, among others. Her work also appears in numerous print anthologies. Cristina has helped organize community art/poetry projects, has led writing workshops, and has hosted many open mic readings. She is the co-founder of Random Acts of Poetry & Art Day.