Prairie Schooner, September 22nd, 2005
For Anna Akhmatova Who had been in love with her that summer? Did it matter? The incidental willow is what she would remember, bare like a silver brooch on a sky of foxfur during the winters of famine and deportations. She wished she had something more cheerful to show them: a list of the flowering shrubs in a city park, lovers and toddlers asprawl behind rosebushes; workers with mallets indulging in horseplay while knocking partitions of sheetrock to splinters: energy's avatars, feminine, masculine. Forehead against the cold pane, she would always be ten-and-a-half years older than the centu...
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