European car trip to the square with two brothers.
One, my Ukrainian father for my current excursion,
The other is one of the many Sashas that I now know.
Getting dropped off to get on a bus with a bunch of Americans,
My papa looks excited for us.
I halfway share this excitement; the words “Soviet-era” aren’t always reassuring
when speaking about accommodations.
He leans in for a hearty hug and, as we separate,
I realize that maybe he wanted to kiss me on the cheek…
It’s ok, we’ll see each other when we visit for Easter.