Leningrad

I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew,

The jealousy, the shyness, though in vain

Made up a love so tender and so true.

A.S. Pushkin

I memorized your words before I touched your soil—

Leningrad, the name you held the day I arrived

an outpost with guards and uzzis staring us down

and filterless papirosy

Where Dostoevsky sat and composed his questions

that grabbed my heart and twisted my mind

and pulled me—here

to find Raskolnikov’s attic

To kneel in Haymarket Square, like Sonya

and beg for mercy

for understanding, a hand reaching out

a hand pouring vodka, salty pickles, bitter black bread

so heavy it could break a toe—comfort food

for the underground man

Drinking sweet day-old tea all night on the train, red arrow

to see Red Square, to see dead Lenin, to see St. Basil’s

and the beauty that blinded its master

You taught me to love, you taught me to fear

to taught me to hate, you taught me to live

in the absurd world

of madmen’s minds

You flow in my veins like the

kvass I imbibed, like the Shostakovich that haunted

like the Swan Lake that terrified

or the Pushkin, dear Pushkin

I loved you, I hated you

and probably still do.