Translated by Katia Szarek
Two poems written in Moscow in 2022, 4 months apart
1
in Moscow heavy gray clouds hang like a huge Ikea duvet over the fingers of skyscrapers the mouth is as if sewn together, cut anew, built anew blocked by unspoken shame the first day when I can write anything a warm live conversation woke up in me like urine I don’t know how long my existence in this world lasts I start thinking about packing things how much time I have left I wait for the freedom from the fear of losing what I own, to own nothing to become clear and wrong just like these heavy skies because it’s wrong to hang above the window like that in the beginning of March
2
summer Saturday Moscow moms strolling with prams the same ones, or very similar to that one
It is green all around and a warm summer rain just passed
I have no kids lately I wanted to adopt a newborn baby girl
talked through feeding options with my mom
thought about parenthood
that was a week before the pram and the torn apart tiny body
I don’t know what I feel right now
as if the death penalty comes back to paradise and angels are preparing the electric chair a special room for firing squads clean the guns learn the Psalms