Posted on December 30, 2013by chimerapoet

She glides into the room with eyes of smoke

the lady of Leningrad wrapped in scarlet

do your words burn and smolder

like your notebooks?

harden your heart for lover, husband, friend


and fickle country will turn their backs

and leave you to the wolves

hiding their eyes while you turn,

run in hopeless circles

whore? nun? the papers made no distinction

and yet you reigned over every room you entered

you wrote and spoke the festering truth

which fell like black agates from your pen

and celebrated lips

despite the mad

and jealous scraping

chiseling your name from the stone

like deposed pharaohs

you could not be wiped from the memories

of the people

gagged and starved and shunted from coldness to coldness

and yet

you penned your own requiem

you, yourself

even with faltering stuttering heart and bones

could not be silenced

noble lady, poet without a hero

the wild girl watched as the toy town burned

but never turned a wide grey eye away

and met the storm standing straight and unflinching

rooted to her beloved ground

in verity

Anna of all the Russias

to the bitter end.


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