Translated by Alyona Doubrovina
Your Version
I had held a small frog in the palm of my hand I had held a giant achatina snail in the palm of my hand I had held an African millipede, a rapan shell, a beautiful demoiselle but the war began anyway*
passing by bushes and trees
I had torn off a currant leaf. a lime leaf. a hawthorn leaf. a bird cherry leaf. walking swiftly through the dewy grass, I had felt the stinging spark of nettles on my ankle. plantain, dandelions, white clover, St. John's wort, chamomile, shepherd's purse but the war began anyway*
the forest was rumbling above my head, the birch and pine trees were touching with their crowns. the sea was loudly roaring with the storm below. far beyond the river the cuckoo was counting years after years. the dark grass was filled with chirping, ringing and violin tunes but would the war have begun anyway?
where is the true story here? where did we miss the fateful decline of that truth?
even when we caught a baby pike in the creek, and then we let it go, remember? even when we crossed our fingers and then we made up, remember? even when everything suddenly turned white overnight, remember? even when we wrote on the blackboard with that stupid squeaky chalk, remember? but the war broke out and stormed in anyway*
2023