there is an old soviet train
running through communities
of communist orchards
and the family planters
remain towns away
bussing each day
to plough and tow
the potato
the seed
and today a man
who remembers more
than the beatles’ song
back in the ussr
turns to us
the ukrainian
the two americans
and hands
us each an apple
from the garden
where he plucked three
bags this afternoon
and he compliments our smiles
our laughter
the look of better days
under wrinkled eyes
old russian tongue
©Julie Bolitho. “ukraine,” Poem. Ukraine and Other Poems. Leaf Books Press: 2007, pgs. 13 and 17.
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