…and so we stood there with the others
Before the consulate’s locked doors.
Generic windows looked on blankly,
The shameful Russian flag hung limply
From a long pole above the roof.
The candles burned. A man walked up,
Sighed, awkwardly took out a lighter
And lit another one. Flowers everywhere.
Throughout it all, a solemn bitter silence.
The consulate itself gave off cold whiffs
Of prison bunks, the coppers’ empty eyes,
The Gulag, vicious dogs, and servile lies.
And suddenly I felt the urge
To walk away, to put some distance
Between those walls and me,
As if they stretched plague-ridden stumps
Towards me: draw near, I am your country,
Your Motherland, give me some love, you swine!
And so we left. Our legs led us away
Upon the path that suited most—
A downward slope. And in thirty minutes
We walked out to the sea—its crash and thunder,
A freedom that cannot be curtailed,
A healing, unchecked freedom,
A freedom absolute. I stood there
Reviving slowly, while the waves danced
Without direction, without rhythm,
Their wild and frenzied dance.
And only distant oily lights
Returned us to our sorrow and contempt,
To the reality of grief, bewilderment, and anger,
Because it seemed that every light
Was cast by a memorial candle.