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Anna’s Children

They shot my man like a dog in the streets;
the dog that is, not my man.
Not in the streets, instead he stood
among the trees in Kovalevsky.
Absurdities refuse to stop.
It was the price to pay perhaps
for infidelities to him
or to power, I suppose.
I will never know. But I
remain, a requiem.
Tatar blood runs through these veins
and I will not apologize
for the changing of my name.
Still I miss the summers near
Sevastopol and Kiev.
I will never die, I fear:
tyranny keeps me alive.
My fate is never to rest as long
as blue flows red Dniper deep
to the sea about my home.

Originally published June 3, 2017 | Vox Poetica | www.voxpoetica.com

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