The Stranded Babies of Kyiv

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The stranded babies of Kyiv

the nameless

unclaimed product

of surrogates

swaddled in elephants

and flowers

crowned by a spray of bonnets

sleep in the pink, pre-dawn age of dreams

in charitably arranged cribs numbered 1-19

protected by a soft brigade of nannies

armed with bottles and laps

in a basement decorated in war dust

while in the terror of the grim out there

intended targets

that used to be people

weep 

and drag their belongings

like portable oxygen tanks

across a heartbroken bridge

as buildings

and bloodlines

are vaporized

and become as forgotten as

the stranded babies of Kyiv

whose bridge to their faraway tomorrow

is heartbroken too





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