Edytta Wojnar

Dear Poland,

You’d been taken advantage of for decades, your economy stunted, but I don’t hold it against you—who would blame a child shaped by abuse? Constantly invaded from all sides by neighbors controlled by lunatic leaders, you toll church bells, entomb bones & secrets. I am proud of you for always fighting back in solidarity.

I imagine you regret I’ve never met my grandparents, my aunts, uncles, who all died so young as offerings on war’s altar. I’d like to think you feel sorry for your orphaned children nurtured only by memories & trauma. Are you disappointed that so many have left & twist their tongues to live in other languages?

My beautiful country, I miss your snowy peaks, your sandy beaches glittering with amber, fields like checkerboards doggedly growing golden wheat & rye, your orchards of sweet apples buzzing with bees & chatter. I miss the shushing sounds of my sentient language. 

exile—
moonflowers unfurling
at night

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About the Author

Edytta Wojnar, born and raised in Poland, now lives in New Jersey. The author of Dandelions in Third Space, Red Rain, Here and There, and Stories Her Hands Tell, Wojnar is the recipient of a 2025 poetry fellowship from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts. 

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