Lace

​My great grandfather Abraham Katz, peace be upon him, a jeweler and silversmith, emigrated to the United States from Kyiv, Ukraine in the late 19th century. His daughter Ann, my paternal grandmother, was born in Chicago in 1892, one of seven children. On retreat in my friends' cabin last week, this poem woke me up. I dedicate it to Great Grandpa Katz, to my Grandma Ann, to all the family left behind, and to the Ukrainian people now fighting and fleeing for their lives. 

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Lace
 
The day after Russia invaded 
Ukraine, I awoke to sun streaming 
through the lace curtains in the 
cabin on Sonoma Mountain, etching a
delicate filigree pattern of light
and shadow on the soft green
duvet cover, light and shadow
fluid, stretching and shifting with
Earth’s turning and the play of
sun on leaves outside, eyelets 
of light connected by threads 
of shadow, the same light shining 
on the opposite side of the world, 
on the people in Ukraine and 
Iraq, Beijing and Bangkok, 
Calgary and Cameroun, similar shadows 
falling on us all, reminders of 
how delicately and artfully and 
inextricably our lives are interwoven— 
such delicate filigree!--and of how 
suddenly, deliberately and brutally 
they may be torn apart. 

                    © Diane Elliot 2022