BORIS BY CANDLELIGHT

Natasha, first this -

then what?  I'll be looking

into the shadows and, instead

of that buck-toothed squirrel, I'll see

your body drawn like an ivory blade

slicing the dark.  Then what good will I be to Fearless Leader?

All of Moscow will become your 

slow walk, as though the entire city

swam with your slim thighs

shortening the streets.

Natasha, we are supposed to be comrades in the struggle - we are

supposed to be taking the world

back from America.  We should be nabbing

Rocky and giving him some convincing

bonks on the head.  But don't think

I haven't noticed your blouse

ripe as midnight when you pass by

at headquarters, and that sleepy

invitation in your glance when

we've been spying too long

in the white House basement,

squinting into that small

circle of light.

Once  I saw the wind turn around

in your raven hair and thought

of your dress as a full sail and

myself, a small island upon which you

might be shipwrecked for an evening.

Do you really think that when I

close my eyes it's Bullwinkle

that haunts the dim hall inside me?

But, dahlink, we are supposed to be

dreaming of a more perfect State.

You must understand, Natasha,

in every frame of this life

we invent ourselves and the air.

The cartoonist is just a sad rumor,

like the distance you see between us.

These lines that shape our bodies,

that separate us and break up the world -

they're there because you think

they're there.  You have always been 

a part of me, Natasha.  I have

already sketched you million times

with my soul's invisible ink.

I love you as much as I live

for Russia.  But these capitalists,

baby, they will snatch even the broken moon

if we look away and let them.                                                                

by Tim Seibles, from his book "Hurdy-Gurdy" page 62 - 63.
CSU Poetry Center
Copyright 1992 by Tim Seibles