I lie in my bath, and I think of her,
many worlds away in Kiev,
where the air raid sirens blare
and drones endlessly circle overhead.

I lie in my bath, and I think of her,
as warm water laps round my knees,
and she lies cold in her bed,
no water, no heat, power, nor Wi-Fi.

I lie in my bath, and I think of her,
encircled by fear and farewells,
missiles and burnt-out buildings,
in her far-away country of the brave.

I lie in my bath, and I think of her,
filling mugs, bowls, pans and buckets
with water, when she’s able,
watched by her son and Victory, the cat.

I lie in my bath and I think of her.
Her name does not trip off my tongue,
nor have we ever spoken,
but we are women, and know what love is.

I lie in my bath, and I think of her,
in the chill of snow and winter,
writing in the coffee shop,
where the generator gives her some warmth.

I lie in my bath, and I think of her,
in the city of grit and zeal,
and hope that she will be safe,
that her bath never fills with blood nor tears.