making varenyky while worrying about an ongoing invasion

 Note: This was written on February 22, 2022. I am late in posting this to my blog (though it has been on other social media platforms), but I felt it was important to post it here, too. May God bless Ukraine. 

making varenyky while worrying about an ongoing invasion

"I don't understand, I decidedly not not understand why men can't live without war." --Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace.

i remember reading an article

after putin invaded crimea

(almost eight years ago now),

about people in crimea

deciding to make varenyky

instead of voting in a rigged referendum.

they boycotted

by filling dough with cherries and potatoes,

as a way of political protest.

tonight i think about ukraine.

my heart is sick with reports

of boots on the ground

of sovereignty trampled

on the streets i once knew

in a country i love.

i cannot convince

a man

obsessed with rewriting history

(who hurtles through it, like the driver of

gogol's troika),

glutted with pride

wanting the world, if he could have it.

but my heart is with ukraine tonight

and my hands and head need something to do.

so i make varenyky

my favorite ukrainian comfort food

a small token

of my love for that beautiful land,

for those beautiful people.

the scents of the shallots simmering

in sunflower oil,

of sprigs of dill

send me back to donbas kitchens,

to times of eating buckwheat in the morning,

of gifts of pickled tomatoes,

of learning how to make borscht

in a tiny mariupol home--

our hostess explaining that the order matters,

that the flavors must marinate just right.

my varenyky are messy.

i am sure that a true ukrainian

would get the seal just right,

the shape just so.

but i am just an american

who will never truly be able to understand

the wars and famines ukraine has endured

for too many years,

an american

who cannot understand the worry of ukrainian mothers

while my own baby sleeps soundly in his crib,

as i make varenyky in the peace of my own home.

but with each press of my thumb

into the dough,

with each filling of cheese

and potatoes,

with each dumpling rising to the top

of the boiling water,

i witness again and again,

"i care, i care, i care."