Lost Suitcase
by Albina Pozdnyakova (Альбіна Позднякова)
Suitcase, – she repeats, – I wish we could find the suitcase
Then, we will flourish.
I have packed tights therein,
A warmer model for the winter. And the pants
Those might have fit by now.
I have lost a lot of weight these weeks, you see
I used to snack at night, before.
Now, I can barely lay any meal into my mouth.
Granny’s portrait in an adorable old frame, there were
T-shirts, undies… I can buy those easily again, but
I have packed them, and I don’t need too many.
In the bag, a few little treats for the kids,
the chocolate you’ve asked for, and the books.
Where the hell that suitcase was lost? Gosh
I have everything in it. All my meds, essential bits.
“Pack, my dear, cram in the whole home,” they said.
I grasped the rings, the color of ripen prune,
That dress of yours. Damn it! We’d better go!
Unwashed Windows
by Albina Pozdnyakova (Альбіна Позднякова)
How are you?
Quite well. We were bombed, but all unharmed.
I’ve settled in the bathroom and daddy in the corridor.
It banged tumultuously at night, but I brought
A bunch of blankets to the bath. Was like a princess,
Yes, and the pea under a mountain of feathers.
Slept fine! Why shouldn’t I?
I placed a prayer book nearby the headboard.
Grandmother’s one to shield me well.
You’d better sleep. Perhaps drink some valerian root?
Yes, Ivanochko’s house was stricken and burned down.
No, I won’t go! What does it hold for me, my dear?
In the darkness and the cold, I am too old to wilt.
Climbing down takes so long, to hide in time when shelled.
At least, I sleep enough in here. These days,
I mostly think about Easter, my beloved child.
I would’ve washed the windows. It’s a disgrace
To greet our Christ among such dirt. Katrusya
Comes to us for the holidays. She cried her eyes out,
So I invited her to bake paskas together.
But what about the windows? I contemplate, my dear.
Probably not yet. I’ve sealed them all over,
So they won’t blow out. Not the prettiest view,
Yet secure. I would clean it all, but,
Better wait to the day we win,
To remove that sticky tape at once.
Cherry Plum Blossom
by Albina Pozdnyakova (Альбіна Позднякова)
Translation by Wolfgang Basyuk
Wish I could give you a slightly more real hug,
Like how it was before the missiles fell at us.
We used to do it so easily, painlessly, with a laugh.
Have a smile over there! And find a reason for it too.
Write me sometimes about where and how are you?
Text anything… Alive means you are not silent.
Let’s imagine us together, at a distance, so-and-so,
No idea how otherwise, so I keep prattling on
About the weather, grandma, plums’ snow-like bloom.
Look out the window while the aircraft is not around.
Spring approaches with its rampant flowery pattern,
Every living thing wears its outfit and is trained
To defend Motherland the best as it can.
Greenish camouflage has it on to cover us both.
Cuddle me through Zoom, Skype, or whatever God knows,
Bring pillows to the bathroom to sleep,
Pray for the fallen, let the soil be like a cashmere,
Soft and fragrant as the flowers of a blossoming plum tree.
Prayer
By Dana Gioia
From the book, The Gods of Winter, with the dedication, “In Memory of My Son, Michael Jasper Gioia. Briefest of joys, our life together. “
Echo of the clocktower, footstep
in the alleyway, sweep
of the wind sifting the leaves.
Jeweler of the spiderweb, connoisseur
of autumn’s opulence, blade of lightning
harvesting the sky.
Keeper of the small gate, choreographer
of entrances and exits, midnight
whisper traveling the wires.
Seducer, healer, deity or thief
I will see you soon enough—
in the shadow of the rainfall,
in the brief violet darkening a sunset—
but until then I pray watch over him
as a mountain guards its covert ore
and the harsh falcon its flightless young.
I Believe
By Unknown during WWII
I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining
And I believe in love,
even when there’s no one there.
And I believe in God,
even when he is silent.
I believe through any trial,
there is always a way
But sometimes in this suffering
and hopeless despair
My heart cries for shelter,
to know someone’s there
But a voice rises within me, saying hold on
my child, I’ll give you strength,
I’ll give you hope. Just stay a little while.
I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining
And I believe in love
even when there’s no one there
But I believe in God
even when he is silent
I believe through any trial
there is always a way.
May there someday be sunshine
May there someday be happiness
May there someday be love
May there someday be peace…
Homeward Bound
Composed by George W. Meyer, written by Howard Johnson (1917)
In the quiet misty morning
When the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stop their singing
And the sky is clear and red,
When the summer’s ceased its gleaming
When the corn is past its prime,
When adventure’s lost its meaning –
I’ll be homeward bound in time
Bind me not to the pasture
Chain me not to the plow
Set me free to find my calling
And I’ll return to you somehow
If you find it’s me you’re missing
If you’re hoping I’ll return,
To your thoughts I’ll soon be listening,
And in the road I’ll stop and turn
Then the wind will set me racing
As my journey nears its end
And the path I’ll be retracing
When I’m homeward bound again
Bind me not to the pasture
Chain me not to the plow
Set me free to find my calling
And I’ll return to you somehow
(softly)
In the quiet misty morning
When the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stop their singing
I’ll be homeward bound again.