New World
It’s the shadow of falling maple leaves,
not leaflets floating from passing plane:
Quickly leave your own country or die.
West in Ukraine the ranks of women
soldiers doubled morning news said.
Smoke, some vein of iron that makes
the faucets pour blood red for days?
At the pop of firecrackers or gunfire
wait for teenage laughter or screams.
Skin brown, papers for a checkpoint?
I saw one carved so carefully and long
by suffering her stillness far surpasses
ancient marble, smile a secret beyond
joy or woe she whispers to a waking
child in a new world still mostly sleep.