In this new country of ours we will, let’s face it, be endlessly debating, endlessly refining, so much talking!—at least in the beginning, when we’ve just arrived. And probably later as well, always arriving as we are in this mortality, with so much to say and so little mind-reading. We will continue to use words…
In our new country we will notice, cherish, entirely disregard time, inhale hours and exhale days, float and surf and snorkel into the minutes and years, time like a blanket over or under us, wrapped around our beachchilled skin. Our time will be free of owners, a fact of life on this particular planet, like…
In the new country we will bike through the town in most weather, barrowing smaller humans or parcels in the front when we must or like, pulling wagons, flashing our prettiest wheel-lights at night, double-riding, even triple-riding. Mostly we will wheel through the streets at a leisurely speed allowing for chitchat, perhaps playing the old…
In our new country, all toilets will be composting toilets, inside or outhouse, some with wide stalls for wheelchairs, some with built-in steps for small humans, mostly sit-down and some with urinals, for easiest collection of the pee we will feed microbial fuel cells from which later we will shear electricity. And we will build…
If the men from town call in the crux of night, then they are calling to misinform you. If they say come quick your brother’s in jail, then that’s not what they mean. If you go to town but your brother’s not in jail, then this time he cannot be saved. If your brother cannot…
They came to arrest me For kissing a Lieutenant’s wife while kissing A sergeant’s sister while romancing with the mother Of the assistant undersecretary of state: My shoes in front of my life I run— Soldiers arrest our women And the flag is the towel the wind dries its hands on. I need a drink….
She sucks at a cigarette butt and yells to a soldier, “Go home! You haven’t kissed your wife since Noah was a sailor!” Madame Momma Galya Armolinskaya, what would we give to ride beside you in a yellow taxi, away from funerals two windows open, throwing milk bottles at police check points? Momma Galya Armolinskaya,…
Now each of us is a witness stand: Vasenka eyes us watch four soldiers throw Alfonso Barabinski on the sidewalk. We let them take him, all of us cowards. What we don’t say we carry in our suitcases, coat pockets, our nostrils. Across the street they wash him with fire hoses. First he screams, then…
No one knows why deafness came. But some say the city of Vasenka awoke and refused to hear soldiers. In the name of Petya, a deaf boy killed by soldiers, we refused. That day, when soldiers complimented girls in the alley, the girls just slid by, pointing to their ears and shaking their heads. That…
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