March 2024, Poetry

Southbound From Donbass

By Ivan Snowa
Translated by Marc J. Elzenbeck

I see you on the beach so healthy
with umbrella yellow and the sun
heating strong and rolling over
into my skin with pleasant panic.

You’re with the babies smiling
laughing but beckoning me back
from the waves where I’m drowning
I snap awake and grab the wheel.

Scraping the mile marker post
47 just north of Ogden I don’t
lose the trailer or kill anyone
all the way to Salt Lake City.

Have to stop and get some coffee
sip and think about old countries
until I meet a sweet young couple
who know Dostoevsky at my destination.

We talk about the great revivals
drink stinky beers and begin quoting
The Big Lebowski and news from Ukraine 
writing down our numbers and change.

March 7, 2024

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