(a lullaby) Snow glints and softens a pig's slaughter. Mama refuses another drink, mama agrees to another drink. On the wall—a carpet with peonies, their purple mouths suck me into sleep. Small, I've been bedded. Toasts from across the wall, my lullabies. Mama says no-no-no to more drink. My bed smells of valenky. Without taking its eyes off me a cat licks its grey paw as if sharpening a knife. Mama yells yes to another drink. Mama's breasts are too big to fit into packed morning buses. There's uncertainty I would grow into a real person. But on a certain day in Vishnyowka, a pig is slaughtered, mama whispers yes yes yes yes to more drink, I'm vanishing into the peonies' throats, peonies smell of valenky, of pig's blood on the snow. * Clock's hands leave a strange ski track. |
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