Sunday, November 17, 2013

For Valentina Nikolaevna

Of all the regrets
that sprout tendrils
and cling steadfastly
to anamnesis

I lament the gentle wit
which lilted off your silver tongue
simmered under your salted hair
and kindled the purest of hearts

I tripped on the potholes under your window
while you foundered on the fifth floor
peeling potatoes for
your sailor husband's new girl

in the desert of my mind
your fusion of culture and lore
swept through and cleansed me
leaving a gaping wadi

you opened the world of Likhachev to me
but I lost and squandered
our friendship and my head
in a foolish girlish sacrifice

how I miss you

our lives admonish our daughters:

never, ever, lose
your voices

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