Six Poems for Svetka, the Day She Had Her Epiphany. First Draft

Six Poems for Sveta, the Day She Had Her Epiphany.

“I am living inside my head, waiting for an epiphany that is always just beyond my reach.” S


“Make it so that we can be together.” S

We are connected
her and I, like one
of those phones where you

tie a line between
soup cans. Instead of
cans we have punched holes

into our hearts and
tied knots at the ends.
When we pull away

from each other we
make the line tight. It
makes it so you can

hear every thing,
like her husband
playing a mournful tuba.

Days like this I wish
she would move closer —

cut me some slack.






“…are you another one of those men who have hunted me?”  S

I’ve never been to Africa,
not much into Hemingway,
or Fish and Game.

Once when I was young
I caught the moon, while sitting
in a tree. It was all quite

by accident —I let her go
right away. I don’t know who was
more surprised.

Eventually she sent me a telegram,


STOP “ I can’t stop

thinking of you,
I hate

you, I love
you! Sincerely,

The Moon.” STOP




“How are you Christopher? I want to know!” S

She loves me

she loves me not

she loves me……………..

She is always




spins around me.

Her heart is like one of those
twirling machines

at Luna Park.

She makes me dizzy,
makes me pale —

she’s wont sit still
she’s turning — turning

blue in the face
from holding her breath.

She’s making me unsteady,

— she won’t make up her mind




“ I am crazy about you Christopher….”S

She’s bought me four train tickets
all going in different directions —

writes me a poem in a telegram
but sends it to her husband instead.

“He wants to prove how much he loves me,”
She says, “ I owe him that much.”

To help them out, I buy him a puppy,
name it chuvstvo dolga —send it to him

Fed- Ex with a note tied to its collar,

“ She’ll love it.”





“ Five hours ago I knew we were going to be together” S

The clock above my stove
has stopped working

because of the sudden
grease fire —

looks kind of like a Dali.

Five hours earlier
I am hanging out on the moon
with my girl and we are throwing

rocks at the earth
laughing and dancing –
It’s striking the way the rocks

turn into




all over







“Let’s say that I was just a poet’s dream “ S
“I hate when they say that.” C

She stands up and brushes the moon-
dust off of her mirrored dress; a hundred

little earths glimmer against her body.
I ask her where she’s going?

tells me her husband needs her,
some mumbling about being
responsible and the puppy….

I ask about me?

I get an answering machine
with a nice message…..

“sorry for missing your call…” and …..” leave
your number….., please, don’t hate me” and…
”I will get back to you as soon as I ….” beeeeeep.

I look down at the frayed line
coming out from my chest

— throw a rock at the earth

and make a wish.

I don’t leave a message.


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