You sang to me

 

 

a moving grove

take all your belongings
everything that’s yours
split lips cut knees
the cracked jar of a head from which
memory slowly seeps and all you can
leave just leave behind

One year after Russia's invasion of Ukraine, poet Iryna Shuvalova proposes an aesthetics of escape.

Read the poem, translated from the Ukrainian by Uilleam Blacker

Russian love song

 

диктатор