Читать книгу The Poem She Didn't Write and Other Poems - Olena Kalytiak Davis - Страница 7
ОглавлениеSummer Fiction
My fancies fluttered round the same images
like martins round a bell tower at dawn.
I checked my e-mails, then, I checked them again:
lariat sweep and stallion glow.
Some one hour’s experience for which we
stubbornly subornatively return:
a dalliance at an execution.
Everything reduced to occasion
but the dailiness of my great Slavic beauty,
unwitnessed, being passed on and through. But
green after green after green!
Summer like summer like summer!
Fat, like Tolstoy’s—
inside the house and out, fat!
Gathering raspberries in a bikini (chto takoe?)
as if the will of everyman were free!
The great Sky over Austerlitz.
The old Oak near Otradnoe.
The Hut at Mytishchi.
The Platform at Astapovo Station.
In the Backyard in a Billabong Bikini.
Each day you did not see me was something
you lost, like, at cards.
