- By W.D. Ehrhart
Last night it rained, and then turned cold.
Today the trees are coated in ice,
every bare branch, every tiny needle
on the evergreens. Now the sun’s come out,
the sparkle on the trees is dazzling,
enough to lift the heaviest heart,
enough to make you think this world’s
not so hopeless as it seemed last night.
Last night, Russian missiles hit Ukraine,
and Russian tanks crossed the border
headed for Kyiv. Who’s at fault?
Who did what to whom? No doubt
the fingers will be pointing sixteen
different ways to Sunday. Anymore,
it’s hard to care whose fault it is.
It just keeps happening.