My Independent Writing Project: Wrong Daughter

Wrong Daughter Writing and Author's Note

Historical Fiction Narrative Poetry and Author's Note

Throughout my previous reading, I have always been interested in books about the Second World War. So, when it came to picking a time period to write about, I definitely wanted to try to write about a different perspective contributed to World War II.

A big contribution to my drawing towards World War II is the connection my family had in  it. My great grandmother, Odette, secretly helped the French Resistance that went against Hitler to protect other countries occupied by Hitler. When I first learned this about my great Grandmother, I definitely felt intrigued to search and read more about World War II as I could learn about how my great Grandmother could have struggled, but also give me a deeper understanding of that time period.

Liljana Wozniak, who is my main character in the book, is not a person in real life, but slightly reflects my great grandmother in certain ways as she is headstrong and despises the war. I wanted Liljana to reflect how hard the times were during the war through a lot of confusion and conflicts she never thought she would go through. Most World War II novels have characters that have a preference to one of the sides in the war that would do them justice, however, I mainly focused on Liljana trying to resolve her family and make an escape and not have any preference to the sides in the war. I first formed the idea on writing my historical fiction in-verse story based on the first act of the war, which was the divide of Poland, from the character Emilia Stozek in  a previous reading from a book I love called: Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys. Liljana and Emilia have drastic differences in their personalities from Liljana being headstrong, compared to Emilia always being reserved, very quiet, and dependent. However, both characters do go through a lot of the same confusions and conflicts; for example, both characters were raped by Russian soldiers. This conflict was a big issue towards Liljana in my story as it was a bigger burden to carry on her shoulders.

History.com, helped me learn and add the information to my poems on how the German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact was signed between Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin on August 23, 1939. This pact was signed as an alliance that was wanted to prevent more issues to the battles that had already started in Europe. The pact claimed that the Nazi Germans and Soviet Union would not perform any violence and attack on each other for ten years. However, Adolf Hitler disobeyed this pack in June 1941 when Nazi Germans invaded the Soviet Union.

The first act that contributed towards the Second World War started with Hitler’s invasion on claiming the west side of Poland as it broke the Munich Agreement that was set between Germany, France, and the British. The French and British set this pack as they wanted to keep Hitler restricted and knew that he would use Poland as a target, so they tried to bring arm forces to Poland and help the Polish.  So, when my poems claim how “the pact has broken”, the main part behind that was how Hitler had broken the Munich Agreement, and further on the German-Soviet Nonaggression Pacts. The first disobeyance of the Munich Agreement did have a big impact on not only the West side of Poland, which Hitler occupied, but also the East because it limited their contact and resources that would be brought between the areas of the country.

There are millions of  stories, experiences, and feelings during the Second World War that are not heard. All have dealt through suffering, pain, sadness, confusion, and some even happiness. Liljana Wozniak, from Vilnius, Poland, struggled  with the weight of all her conflicts building up on her, but she found her strength and courage to accept her place and what will come ahead. Not everything will be enjoyable, but not everything will be horrible. With time you will have to accept it and find your voice.

The Start

The Goodyear Radio filling my ears with its static rings,

but all I hear is the dread

of the news

arriving

to ratify  everyone

of the upcoming death

and ruin of our lives.

September 1, 1939,

Adolf Hitler has started to invade west Poland,

everyone knows this is

the start of the war.

The radio is talking how Hitler

has brought shock to the French and British as he has started to break the Munich Agreement.

Through the crackles and twitches

the man says:

“Adolf Hitler

can’t be trusted with the rest of his agreements.

He will continue to perform aggression.”

My home,

once wholesome,

once connected,

where I could travel to the West

with no complications,

but now torn apart

by the rule of Hitler.

Poland is on edge

to Hitler's actions.

We knew there would be issues,

but never wanted to be involved

in this war

I despise.

We can only hope

he doesn’t disobey the German-Soviet Nonaggression pact.

Otherwise

Poland could end up in ruins.

We all try to ignore this,

but it’s inevitable.

June 1941,

The pact

has broken.

Somewhere Away

I stand in front of the kitchen window,

clasping the raindrop sapphire around my neck,

envisioning the kingfisher.

Its vibrant

blue,

yellow,

orange

feathers dancing in the wind.

Picking itself up off the ground,

flying away.

I imagine the bird,

flying to somewhere safe,

flying to family,

escaping.

I wish to see that Kingfisher.

To have it fly me away,

out of this war,

like it did.

I can’t help but think:

I wish I  was a bird.

Anyone but me.

What Is Yet To Come

The footsteps and spits,

clicks of the foreign tongue,

“тихо!”

have faded out of the ringing in my ears.

The contortion of pain piercing through my face,

trembling to the bone,

buckling joints,

streaming tears.

My eyes pull open,

trying to find the peace and safety I have now forgotten.

Pushing myself against the barn wall,

now afraid of anything touching me,

anything wanting me,

anything forcing me.

My voice hoarse through the screams

constantly ignored.

Nothing no longer the same.

Why me?

I Don’t Know You

Jolting awake,

screams trapped in my throat.

The flowing night gown

now trapped to my skin

drenched in sweat.

Again,

the only nightmare keeping me awake these nights,

the fear of the Russian soldier.

Faceless.

Merciless.

Careless.

Why could such a stranger,

terrify me in ways,

I can’t envision.

The images,

drawings,

flashing like a hurricane in my mind.

There he is,

with his eyes scratched out,

he didn’t care what he saw.

The ears and forehead missing,

he didn’t care

or listen.

All he is

is the fear hiding behind a mask,

someone who you will never know,

but will

remain scared on you.

The Last Time

It’s raining today,

a day for God to cry for those who have

lost their lives.

A mourning day.

I stare out my bedroom window,

hoping to see that kingfisher,

but I know,

it’ll never come.

Suddenly, I’m taking aback,

my head spinning,

unable to focus on a solid point,

the sudden flow of nausea rising up my throat.

I run to the bathroom,

unleashing the contents.

I sit back down on the ground,

questioning the purpose of my sickness.

With hundreds of possibilities,

I can’t help but bring it down to one,

horrifying thought.

Pregnant.

It Sticks

Death sticks around,

clings to you,

like the toddlers trying to get food and find shelter in this war.

No matter what,

It never leaves.

The haunting smell of dead corpses

feels permanent these days.

But why are the innocent ones

the ones who are dying?

I  wish to bring back all the lost souls

and pour them onto Hitler and Stalin,

to watch them feel the pain of death,

their cruelty,

their selfishness.

Instead,

I’m stuck next to my dying mother.

Watching another innocent life

disappear.

Out of all the death causes going on right now,

my Mama gets cancer.

The one issue  I wish I could have control over

out of all the impossibilities.

I would give up everything to save Mama,

but there’s not much to give up anymore.

Her soft hands

placed like a butterfly between my own,

with the faint,

slowing

heartbeat thrumming my gritted fingertips.

Mama could sing a melody to her own beat,

it would bring life to the flowers,

bring joy to animals.

It would make me feel safe.

The raindrop sapphire,

my mothers greatest possession,

Is splayed between my fingers,

reflecting my streaming tears.

Mama is gone,

and all I have to hold onto her

is her necklace.

What I would do to see her wear it another day,

as she cleans the dishes,

as she sways through the streets,

as she sings the memory of peace,

as she would be living.

Breaking Ties

I can’t remember

the last time my family and I have agreed.

The War has not only divided Poland,

but also my family.

It’s so easy to be on one side,

and think that it fulfills you.

Papa says Stalin is best

Our home is in fact occupied by him,

but Aleksander believes we should trust Hitler

and move to the East side of Poland occupied by him.

What would use to be

the joyful,

the passionate,

the positive conversations,

have now turned to a war in itself at the dining table.

I thought that being secluded in my own home

would keep me out

and forget the war,

but how can I leave the war

if there is one between my own family?

Ever since Mama died,

the grief has turned to anger,

the anger from the war has turned to rage.

Suffocating in the typhoon of emotions

fogging the house.

I question if I still

belong in my family.

I find myself so far away,

wanting to be away,

trying to get away.

I wish Mama could still be here.

She too would want to escape this war with me.

The rowdy bulls of my father and brother could be silenced

by her.

If only I could do that,

and bring the peace to my family

that I long.

Don’t Go

I step into Aleksander’s room.

He’s already rummaging around the room,

packing his bag to leave.

“Please don’t go,” I say,

“Papa didn’t mean it.”

His gaze flicks up,

filled with the look of disbelief.

The constant arguments,

opposing views,

have lost the connection between Aleksander and Papa.

Aleksander said to Papa he wanted to leave and join Hitler’s Nazi troop.

Papa said he wouldn’t allow him to take one step out of Vilnius.

That once he takes one step out

he is disowned,

and shall never come back.

I don’t understand why the war

has taken

such a control on our lives.

Why does it have to break my family?

Why won’t it leave?

Like a shadow during the day,

constantly following in your footsteps.

And at night,

swallowing you whole,

in it’s dark,

empty,

vast space.

Why haven’t I left yet?