Poetry written by Hania Kaczanowska
Yellow Daffodils and Rubber Boots
I asked my Mom to tell a story of a childhood memory
Of her little Polish village when she was young and free
She thought for a moment as she reached into her roots
And quickly said: "Yellow daffodils and rubber boots.
When I was a child, our family was very poor
We didn’t have much that’s for sure
A pair of shoes one was lucky to own
And you wore them till they were fully outgrown
Summer days we ran with bare feet till the sunset
We pastured cows in fields even tho’ the grass was wet
We did our chores and scampered through forests dense
To own a pair of playshoes was a big expense
We washed our clothes in a stream nearby
And stood in waters above knees and thighs
When the sun warmed the banks of the sunny creek
We’d dry the clothes and rest our feet
We picked a lot of mushrooms when we were small
And reached everyplace where one could crawl
Then we would sell them to people who could afford to pay
And gave our parents the money we’d made that day
Springtime quickly forced the daffodils out of the ground
And as soon as their heads popped out, there I could be found
One day I couldn’t believe what was in front of my eyes
The yellow daffodils held the biggest surprise.
I was the richest girl in the village that day
As I showed off by boots in work and play
So when daffodils arrive in the birth of spring
You never know what surprises they’ll bring."
This Easter brought my family all something very special.
Easter 2011
*****
Ziemia Płakała - The Earth Cried
Many times I think about my dad when he fought in the war
I often wonder how scared he was and what he fought for
I wonder if he prayed to God to please stop the suffering and pain
Or was his spirit just numbed from all those that were slain
Two words come to mind as I think of Cassino on the 18th of May
“ Ziemia Płakała” rises out of the visions of smoke filled gray
Cassino was not alone as she cried tears for all the blood
That was soaked into her out of lifeless souls in the mud
The tears were met from a broken country not far away
Who had cried for almost five years to see this day
The country was Poland and she was empty from tears
She was drained of her strength and loss of everything dear
She cried for her people, her destruction and unimagineable fate
A shattered destiny of lives and land and this day was almost too late
The world was oblivious to what her soil had endured
The evil horrors of man so secretly hidden and obscure
The heavens watched as night shadowed the dreams of hope
But on the 18th of May a bit of light appeared on Cassino’s slope
For Poland, the light shone bright for just a second, and flickered again
But it opened the doors to the world to slowly end the merciless pain
The fibre of my soul recognizes every teardrop from this land
“ Ziemia Płakała” comes from teardrops that can only be caused by man.
2013
*****
The Light of the Candle
A cold, frosty window against the darkness of the night
A lonely candle burns with a small flickering light
A small boy watches the flame with curious eyes
Babciu, you lit this candle, can you tell me why?
I lit this candle to remember someone I never knew
Somebody I just heard about when I was as little as you.
This is for my grandparents who never got the chance to see
Their homeland again and a new world with just me.
They lived in a time when their Polish freedoms were taken
On a cold February winter night, all humanity forsaken.
I only knew them from the many stories that were told
How they struggled to survive with hunger and bitter cold.
They never had the chance to get back what they knew
Their lives were destroyed and there was nothing they could do
Their last steps on earth were struggling to return
And I try to remember this as the memory candle burns.
I missed the warm hugs they might have given me
If they had just been given another chance to see
But in my heart I always felt their love stream thru
And from my heart I give Babunia and Dziadek to you.
They were warriors of faith and loved their land
Their fate was unnecessary and hard to understand
They were proud people, gentle and strong
Trapped in a world where so much went wrong.
When the 10th of February comes, remember this light
And the story I will tell you about them tonite.
May the candle burn bright and their memory survive
As their spirit touches us as if they were here and alive.
When I light the candle it is because I hope they will see
That their story will be passed on down to you, thru me
I can feel their smiles from the warmth of the flame
I hope the lit candle will always make you feel the same.
*****
Here was a pair of black rubber boots just for me
I knew they were mine because they said “Marie”
The mushroom money had been used to buy me a treat
Though secondhand, they just fit my little feet