from “We Don’t Know How to Say Goodbye …”
Why are we different from the rest?
Outdoors again, each of us turns his head.
Or else let’s sit in the graveyard
on the trampled snow, sighing to each other.
That stick in your hand is tracing mansions
in which we shall always be together.
— Anna Akhmatova
Trans. Stanley Kunitz and Max Hayward
HOMESCHOOLING MOTHER OF 5, ALL THINGS DOMESTIC, MY CRAZY LIFE
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(The poetry blog of Grant Clauser)
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a roominghouse for the servants of the duende
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