My body runs in Arlemovsk Street, my clothes in a pillowcase:
I look for a man who looks
exactly like me, to give him my Sonya, my name, my shirt--
It has begun: neighbors climb the trolleys
at the fish market, breaking all
their moments in half. Trolleys burst like intestines in the sun--
Pavel shouts, I am so fucking beautiful I cannot stand it!
Two boys still holding tomato sandwiches
hop in the trolley's light, soldiers aim at their faces. Their ears.
I can't find my wife, where is my pregnant wife?
I, a body, adult male, awaits to
explode like a hand grenade.
It has begun: I see the blue canary of my country
pick breadcrumbs from each citizen's eyes--
pick breadcrumbs from my neighbors' hair--
the snow leaves the earth and falls straight up as it should--
to have a country, so important--
to run into walls, into streetlights, into loved ones, as one should--
The blue canary of my country
runs into walls, into streetlights, into loved ones--
The blue canary of my country
watches their legs as they run and fall.
- Ilya Kaminsky
