nikolai

And I will collect your stories, Papa,
like one of your Byzantine hagiographers
And you’ll sing again with your guitar at the kitchen table.
When it’s late and everyone has had too much cognac,
your hair looking so sorry about time and illness–

In an apartment block, snowfall batters windows
Through a darkened corridor, a cat slinks along a wall
A toddler peels back wallpaper to lick at the plaster, eyes half shut
searching for calcium.

A boy runs into a water logged field, his shoes are inverse boats
And he opens his lungs and screams
screams,
for joy,

for love of open space.


varia karipoff (Melbourne, Australia, 1983)