Poem by Jessica Evans

November 13, 2013

summer unpacked fury of misplaced passion, so
we followed forgotten season’s light, coldly flew
at midnight to tracks settling silent shame

you hurled two carats of clear bauble, earrings
not quite intended, but actioned, black velvet box
resting quiet, notepad detailing who owes what, now

worrying over your coffers sitting idle
across the ocean, bundles of crumpled bills
gather dust, like connections fading,

we sit in post-soviet fancy, refreshed but not
restored, trying to find what we lost
rambling through marbled halls,

dusting dirty eastern bloc snow from man-made fabrics,
warming American hands over fake glow from
trivial candle resting on sticky wobbled table,

furiously, you drink Budvar, smoking cloves,
I scribble night-time sadness, I think you speak,
but probably we are silent.


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