borscht, after Berrigan
by M. Marti
It’s 10:37 p.m. in Kyiv it’s the 7th of July and
it’s probably 10:37 p.m. in Lviv but I’m
in Kyiv I’m eating borscht with smetana and drinking
Lvivske and I’m thinking of how Kyiv is Ukra-
ina too how odd I usually think of it as
something all its own like Rivne like Rostov
Na-Dony like Donbas
I never thought at the St
Sophia Cathedral I’d come so much to Kyiv
just to see soldiers and generals who don’t even live
here taking my life away and bringing it back
No
and I never thought Pasha would be back at Roman’s
hair shaved off left arm cut and Nina cleaning
his wounds while we were playing football and
watching the sun come up over the monument
from Navodnitsky park
I think I was thinking when I was
there I’d be somewhere like Bastionna street academic
bleeding thin and beet red
contemplating my new cutting board
to be broken into simplicity with my mother’s knife
poignant shimmering and angry