by Phillip Brady
I saw her at the station,
Eyes down, bewilderment.
Six weeks in a bunker where bombs fell.
False information spread,
Shrapnel of lies causing confusion.
The train, in waiting,
War crimes reminiscent, images indelible.
Now looking west,
Towards Poland, Moldova, Romania, anywhere, a border,
With a different sunrise, any sunrise.
A child, trusting for her salvation,
Sent by her parents who stayed behind
To fight for a future, any future,
Their own warrants signed,
Hoping that a corridor would open to freedom.
Then another bomb dropped
On a Station.
