still I recall the rains in the islands
the cold in Mexico and how
I imagined my mother standing
on the porch looking south
Downstairs, there is a pile of kopeks next to the garbage bins. A ruble is far less than a penny, and there are one hundred kopeks to every ruble…. The kopeks are not there to be thrown away. They are for someone who actually needs them. Three hundred of them would buy a potato or two.
Every morning when I go stair climbing I see her with a rake in hand Standing by a fig tree In front of her Roman house With arches and domes. … Continue reading →