Where I See Myself in Ten Years

posted Jun 3, 2014

Forgetting the order of letters.
Birdsong standing by, our elbows
adrift somewhere. Let us have

a lake right here. Early belonging
is a symptom of running out of life.
Let us have a violent pursuit.

Elbows too sharp against
the other's teeth, exaggerated
crow's feet manifesting

on the older faces in the act.
I do not like birds; I don't know
why I use them.

For months I dreamt of nothing
but beaks under my cuffs,
disintegrating. I've been

told that if you die away
from home, a rooster can return
your soul. I've been told that

owls are not what they seem,
that swallows are descendant
from a ravaged woman.

I believe some of it. There is
no possibility in remembrance.
Other months went dream-less,

until a pair of brown sparrows
appeared, rotting in my sock,
their eyes no longer holding shape.

Marina Kaganova writes poems, studies the Caucasus, and lives in Brooklyn, NY most of the year.

Kaganova’s poem “Unimortal” also appears in this issue.