a pantoum by Sandra Anfang
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| "I’ve never liked my daughter’s stroller. I put it on the baby registry without trying it in person and when it arrived the dimensions felt wrong. The button that was supposed to facilitate one-handed folding did not facilitate one-handed folding. But over the weekend I saw a photograph of this stroller—the same style and color—sitting on the platform of a Polish train station, and this was the thing that finally obliterated what was left of my journalistic steel and made me sob about Ukraine. More than a million Ukrainian refugees have now poured into neighboring Poland, most of them women and children. When Polish mothers learned of this, it seems, they went to the railway stations and border crossings where the refugees were arriving, and they began dropping off baby strollers. A photojournalist [Francesco Malavolta/AP] covering the conflict snapped a picture of seven empty ones waiting at the Przemysl Glowny station [at the border crossing in Medyka, Poland]." —Monica Hesse, The Washington Post, March 9, 2022 |
I never liked my daughter’s stroller
I bought it unseen from an online store
when the box arrived I opened it and cried
somehow the dimensions felt all wrong
I bought it unseen from an online store
gave it to the family across the square
somehow the dimensions felt all wrong
today I found it—same model, same make
I gave it to the family across the square
I felt ungrateful for I had so much
today I found it—same model, same make
abandoned with others at the Medyka station
I felt ungrateful for I had so much
the sight of it triggered deep despair
abandoned with others at the Medyka station
waiting for refugees’ lives to begin
the sight of it triggered deep despair
as we welcome the mothers—one million and more
waiting for their lives to begin again
storming the border, babes at their breasts
As we welcome the mothers—one million and more
who pour into Poland on tides of tears
storming the border, babes at their breasts
all that they own strapped like mail to their chests
They pour into Poland on tides of tears
packed strollers await them, fit for a prince
infants strapped like mail to their chests
piled blankets and diapers to warm their new lives
Packed strollers await them, fit for a prince
refugees flow in wearing thin cloth coats
piled blankets and diapers to warm their new lives
symbiotic survival—mothers’ hard truth of war
Refugees flow in wearing thin cloth coats
after heat was shut off, the water lines cut
symbiotic survival—mothers’ hard truth of war
starved by the greed of the Russian state
after heat was shut off, the water lines cut
women were forced to flee and to hide
starved by the greed of the Russian state
victims of men’s urges, tossed like ashes
women were forced to flee and to hide
and after their flight, raped and tossed again
victims of men’s urges, tossed like ashes
their bodies are beachheads where battles are won
after their flight, raped and tossed again
their bodies as shelter, as instruments of war
their bodies are beachheads where battles are won
the things we don’t mention that all mothers know
their bodies as shelter, as instruments of war
I never liked my daughter’s stroller
the things we don’t mention that all mothers know
when the box arrived, I opened it and cried
Sandra Anfang is a much-published poet, poetry teacher, and visual artist who lives in Northern California. She's been hosting a monthly poetry series since 2013. She walks and writes daily to process her overconsumption of news stories. Her grandparents hailed from Minsk and Budapest, and she feels a deep connection to Ukraine and Eastern Europe.
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