Sunday, November 27, 2022

One Woman For All Women of Ukraine

 


 

November slowly dips towards December and what kind of soldier’s mother would I be if I did not do one more Remembrance Day post?  I cannot imagine what is going on in Ukraine.  So much fear, hurt, loss. All women of the world have an incredible responsibility to pay attention to what is happening during this war on Ukraine.  What happens to one can happen to any of us.  Women remain the most victimized and impacted when there is war and all its horrible incidents of what happens, during war, to women.  We are but a heartbeat of it ever happening to us.  To borrow the phrase from Native American thought:  The Honor of One is the Honor of all. 

The women of Ukraine have no resources and no recourse, they are living in fear as the bombing takes place and the enemy soldiers run over their villages, towns and cities.  Those not in the bombing and takeovers reside in fear of what is happening to their neighbors, their relatives, their people in the midst of the gruesome war.  There are women who are racing towards the fight trying to help their sisters, mothers, grandmothers and children.  There are women who have had to run for their lives, dragging what little they can, as women do, to keep food, possessions, and children to safety, or what they hope is safety. 

Women of Ukraine bear the weight of war, who are delivering babies in the midst of horrible circumstances, being dug out from hospitals, from schools and buildings they thought were safe.  There is no where safe when bombs are raining down on an area. 

Women try to get to safety where there are ways to find food and care.  Women are taking in orphaned children.  There are women who are fostering other women’s children in safer areas. 

Women are the spoils of war.  They are raped, there is sexual violence of all kinds, pity the beauties as they are the first.  When their towns are occupied, they men are killed and women, before they are killed are being violated.  They are the spoils of war.  They are nothing more than collateral of war.  If the bombs did not get them, the soldiers did/do. 

We, women of the world need to realize, in sorrow and horror that we feel powerless to do else but pray and send love and light to our sisters in war.  We can do no more than give what we can to good and honest organizations that are going over to help.  We need to support the men and women who are going over, as civilians to help.  We have a close family friend who is going over for a second time to work with a medical team.  He has left his wife, two daughter sand a new born son to go do what he can. 

Governments take their cues from us, from those of us who have voices and use them.  We have to speak up, to speak out, to protest and to do whatever we can, even write a post to remind our sisters we have sisters in grave danger.

Please keep the women in your prayers…send all you can in any way you can.  Let them not die and experience the being spoils of the war without our notice. 

 

If you can find ways to support them, in any way possible, please do.  Do not become numb to the idea that there is a war in Ukraine and we are too far away to do much.  There is much.  Let us raise our voices in every way we can.

 

©Carol Desjarlais 11.27.22

 

Saturday, November 26, 2022

The Nature of My Father

 


 

*photo by my daughter, Shirrae

great tooth and rolling gum of Rockies

gnawing on bisque blue sky

whose drooling falls upon its bib

young or old in its arrival

 

clawing arms disappearing

into golden wheatfields     my father’s grain

scythed down and gathered like girl’s ponytails

stooked for gather by rough hands gloved

 

hunched down against December’s wasting

a warning to pioneer and patriarchs

holding court upon broad chest of home

bristling with saskatoon and chokecherry bushes

like old man’s whiskers

 

sweating brow of hard days work

dust gritting underneath the band of his work hat

a keening look at fall of sun

a calendar of work for morrow’s bringing

 

small town shrunk with age      our hill

shrunk down with years of snow and wind

pristine in its whitened gown

robes edges rimmed with yard mud and grit

still beautiful to me    my memory of him coming in

 

a steaming bucket of fresh milking

to be put into puzzling slots of separator

for choicest cream to bluish milk       another daughter

too late in his age      too headstrong to skim

as cream of crop      she wants to be whole

 

I am homesick for this milky sky

that man who had little to say

and much to project to a little one who noticed

he was as big and as important as sky

 

©Carol Desjarlais 11.26.22