On the poems
Which will be buried under
On the people I won't see again
On my anger
Which can't escape
From the borders of my hands
The snow falls
On our lives
The gaps in our busted teeth
TRIAL
In
Suwalki a trial continues
The accused a young girl
In
the audience three people
Her husband plus two informers
The Soviet border nearby
A strip of drying blood
Beyond the window the city
Rots like a half-eaten apple
The girl brushes back her hair
With each word she says of freedom
She sees her shred of light
Flicker dead in the tunnel before her
Beyond the window a dog barks
An engine sputters dead
Doors close
The trial in Suwalki continues
One of a thousand trials
The accused is allowed the floor
She speaks of freedom now so faintly
As if she were out of breath
From running up the stairs to her apartment
(She realizes this home is no longer hers)
Each judge has a yawn and a gaping hollow
His short black gullet of conscience
Doors close
A well-oiled court ' s clicking gears
