Oh, to be one of those placid souls
who cozy up with a cup of pale tea
to warm the palate and wash
their hands off the day like
resigned Pilate in an armchair
left by someone’s great great great grandmother
With a hard-back of Proust in the lap
and a saccharine stare directed at the window
where the afternoon is as slow as
one’s thoughts of deliverance
Snow as deliberate in its falling
as sentences on the page
which rustle in step
to someone’s footsteps
in an upstairs bedroom
Footsteps which speak neither
of resolution nor resignation
neither hurry towards him nor from him
which betray neither hate nor desire
Just to sit there in an armchair
in an arrested artificial silence
and brood over that nothing which is life
and which overall has turned out
To be able to numb the faraway sting of pain or regret
and imagine that one has reached salvation.
Yana Djin was born in Tblisi and now lives in New York. She writes in Russian and English.
Copyright 2012 Yana Djin. This poem was previously published in Arcade and is included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.