Photography © Lauren Shear

 

War

                      How many deaths must it take to be considered a war?
                              — 1,000 lives, Google

But the first 100 are only fooling.
They’ve saved their caboodles from drama class.
Death makeup is a breeze.

They clear their throats, step into the spotlight, center stage.

A mother applauds.
Outside, moonlight carves its solid world.

 
                                            * * *
 

The second 100 are children again.

They run through fields of daisies,
fingers interlocked, index fingers pointing.

Ra-ta-tat-tat!

We’re safe!

Migrative imagination,
pretend machine guns

execute a pact.

 
                                            * * *
 

The third 100 drag their feet, lost,
heavy with song.

Song is healthy for the soul.
But who will listen?

Fearful neighbors
slam their doors shut.

Surely you understand, they whisper.

 
                                            * * *
 

The fourth 100 never vacate their apartments.

They’re still there
lying quiet in their beds.

Prayers pack their bodies.

A concrete city block disintegrates
between earth and air.

 
                                            * * *
 

The fifth 100 simply refuse to die

until they find their daughters’
favorite stuffed bear,

the one with the black button, blind eyes

that keeps her safe at night.

 
                                            * * *
 
The sixth 100 press their ears to a hollow wall.

Who is shouting in the dark?
Not everyone who hears voices is unwell.

 
                                            * * *
 

A plastic view master, a last luxury to be held
in their son’s hands,

the seventh 100 cry a creek—a stream—a river

 
                                            * * *
 

The eighth 100

don’t remember first words,
don’t hear last screams—

            their mouths open like that of a toddler
                         gasping for air.

 
                                            * * *
 

A living heart!

            Here!

The ninth 100 believe they are still
warm inside,

the way a burning forest believes
it’s a perfect metaphor for the spiritual world

even after it’s ash.

 
                                            * * *
 

999

…are missing one
            who got away.

Praise be!

 

Pushcart Prize and award-winning poet, translator, and a founding editor of Four Way Books, Dzvinia Orlowsky has published six full-length poetry collections with Carnegie Mellon University Press including her most recent, Bad Harvest, a 2019 Massachusetts Book Awards “Must Read” in Poetry. Her co-translations with Ali Kinsella from the Ukrainian of Natalka Bilotserkivets’s selected poems, Eccentric Days of Hope and Sorrow, (Lost Horse Press), was winner of the 2020-2021 AAUS Translation Prize and a finalist for the 2022 Griffin International Poetry Prize. Her and Kinsella’s co-translations from the Ukrainian of Halyna Kruk’s poems, Lost in Living, is forthcoming from Lost Horse Press in spring, 2024. Dzvinia 7th poetry collection titled Those Absences Now Closest is forthcoming from Carnegie Mellon University Press in fall, 2024.

The poem “War” was included in the 2022-2023 international collaborative exhibition titled Shattered: Symbolic Gesture, in solidarity with Ukraine featuring paintings by Romanian visual artist, Oana Maria Cajal, and poetry in response to her paintings.

Lauren Shear is a museum professional, public historian, and lifelong resident of Massachusetts. She has been working with activist groups since college and has been seeking ways to support communities under attack ever since.