YEVTUSHENKO WAS THE KING
When the drunk Russian
on the F train pulled out
his flask, people moved
to other seats, but not me.
He said: you’re reading Yevtushenko
in English. I was. He told me
his father, in the Thaw,
of which Yevtushenko was the king,
wore jeans with battery-powered
xmas lights up and down the legs.
Do you have to go? he said. I had
gathered my things, we were
at my stop, I would like to hear
him in English. I said I’m sorry,
I have to go, and I went
and I’m still going.
POEM FOR MIROSLAV HOLUB
The Gloomy Octopus lives
inside the book forever
while the tea kettle is boiling
I can look into its eyes
and it stares back at me
but does not love me
for it is gloomy, and
the octopus inside the book forever
is made of ink that reflects
light and is reflected in the mind
and what the mind makes
says Holub, is only there to shore up emptiness
“the primary and secondary emptiness”
which he never explains
VILLETTE VILLANELLE
Lying underneath a Sweetgum tree
in a foreign country under the sun
following the swallows only less free
Lying underneath a Sweetgum tree
in a foreign country under the sun
following the swallows only less free
the sun is at its height, she joins me
years later she still thinks I’m the one
following the swallows, only less free
by just a little, like we’re all doomed to be
sometimes her sad face brightens, she says it’s fun
lying underneath a Sweetgum tree
with the kids, did I mention them? there are three
because we brought the best friend of my son
following the swallows only less free
like everyone in love but with a family
who drifts away from themselves & is stunned
lying underneath a Sweetgum tree
following the swallows, only less free
