Today's poem is by Oksana Maksymchuk

Echoes from the Odyssey
       

When the air raid's over
I still hear them: sirens

airing their wings
on the ghostly boulders of buildings
swelling out of the morning mist

War is warm this year, yet
they're wearing icy armor
each feather frozen —

a cut-throat razor or
a delicate rounded coin
with a protruding spine

Merciless, guiltlessly
unabating, sirens
sing when I close my eyes

stinging them from the inside
with icy quills

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Copyright © 2024 Oksana Maksymchuk All rights reserved
from Still City
Carcanet Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission