I People

A waltz of words catches me in its grip.
The slow then fast then slowing to a tango’s dip.
The soft sloth of a sin-gle sound gives way

to quickly tripping to multisyllabic play
that treatises to terrify to tactically acquire
steal some food
The poisoned pies spread by Ukrainian brood
to trap in Russia’s love that seeks to spread
Exuberant destruction leaving dead

Soldiers on the battlefield till trucks
of occupants refrigeration fill up
How cold
How vicious
How with no remorse
The grandmothers chastise the fighting force
that occupies and steals and rapes and kills
the ones who were “Their brothers” in the fields
How like a civil bloody brutal war
it is to see a language endure
what weaponizes civilian hands
to defend or attack a cousin’s land