Thursday, April 10, 2014

Magpie Spring

This is not a poem.

This is me, a cranky magpie, waiting for green,
seeing little sign of progress.
Waving willow-branches defiantly.

A brand-new iceberg turns blue
just after calving from the mother-glacier.
Do I have a similar excuse?

It's like that time, when, during Spring,
I marched down Leninsky Prospekt
to see what there was to see,
besides a titanium Gagarin,
in a state of being perpetually launched.

I found a line and stood in it,
purchased 1 kilo of frozen shrimp,
and a three-liter jar of birch sap.

With a shower of sparks and a horrific screech of metal,
an elderly indigo Moskvitch
lost an entire rear wheel assembly,
and careened to a halt near the sidewalk.

The driver got out, shrugged,
loped across the lanes to fetch the wheel.
I was impressed by his male confidence.

Today, I am afraid of spooking Spring.
But I am glad I am that girl any longer--
the one missing essential components.










The photo above is not mine--it's a contemporary view of the monument to the cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin. But--you get the idea.

_______________________

Here is my willow branch -- Верба--soon it will be Вербное Воскресенье--in the North we don't call it Palm Sunday--because we don't have palms. :)

Chag Pesach Sameach! Happy Passover!


No comments:

all is translation (and every bit of us is lost in it)

Rilke (Leonid Pasternak, 1900) Image credit to Wikimedia Commons GONG Sound, no longer measurable with the sense of hearing. As ...

popular on this site