A story poem from Lisa
Twice every year we take the train to visit him,
Once at Christmas and once on his birthday in May.
In December Baba brings carnations, his favorites.
In May, she takes tulips and remembers their wedding.
It’s been five years since he was put to rest.
His casket was piled high with roses and lilies.
Each December 22nd Baba buys tickets and carnations
We ride the station’s escalator amongst moving packages.
Behind Baba once I looked over and held a stranger’s eyes.
Voices echo from speakers it is time to board.
Noone speaks to me, nor I to them, from my world.
Twice every year we take the train to visit him.
Five years since we left Kolomna for Moscow.
I feed pigeons now instead of chickens.
Baba scrubs floors at night at the Krelim.
“Go next door to Mrs. Petroskey’s if there’s trouble.”
We sell fresh flowers in Red…
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