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 Jan 2011 Amy Russ
Kate Dempsey
I watched in awe as
Nikolai faced his wife,
not like a husband, but like a soldier.
His countenance was the essence
of a nation hardened by animosity,
his pale face clean shaven,
his black hair slicked back,
his eyes bloodshot and world-weary.
He was leaving his wife for a country
he no longer loved, no longer pledged allegiance to,
despite her pleas for him to stay.
I knew not why he had to leave;
I knew not why he chose to comply.
He never acted of his own accord;
he only followed orders,
the devious wishes of his superiors.
His broad imposing figure towered over us,
steadfast and unaffected,
his face bearing neither smile nor frown.
He only clasped his wife’s hand
and looked into her tearful eyes.
До свидания, моя дорогая.
With a slow, statuesque dignity
he affixed his military cap upon his head
and departed,
stoically descending into battle
virtually unaffected by the
bitter and ruthless Russian gusts,
with me in tow.
To me, he was not Nikolai anymore;
now he was Lieutenant Colonel.
We were not brothers anymore.
He was my commander.
I was his subordinate.
We weren’t familiar with each other anymore.
After all, I was only a child
Who had never known war
And he was a man
Who had never known peace.
copyright Kate Dempsey 2010


Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.

12/13/2010- I made a couple of changes to this poem based on the comments and messages I received on it. Thank you all for your wonderful comments. I am glad that this poem has been successful so far, as I am very proud of it. Happy Holidays, everyone!

12/14/10- After several people sent me messages asking me what the line in Russian says, I believe a translation is in order.

До свидания, мое дорогое. = Goodbye, my dear.
On this sweet bank your head thrice sweet and dear
I lay, and spread your hair on either side,
And see the newborn wood flowers bashful-eyed
Look through the golden tresses here and there.
On these debatable borders of the year
Spring’s foot half falters; scarce she yet may know
The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow;
And through her bowers the wind’s way still is clear.

But April’s sun strikes down the glades to-day;
So shut your eyes upturned, and feel my kiss
Creep, as the Spring now thrills through every spray,
Up your warm throat to your warm lips: for this
Is even the hour of Love’s sworn suitservice,
With whom cold hearts are counted castaway.
 Nov 2010 Amy Russ
ju
Please?
 Nov 2010 Amy Russ
ju
Can I come to you as I am,
in secret-
brimming with the need to be held?
Can I lay hot whispers on your skin
then taste how they make you feel?
Can I show you how to touch me,
how hard to press?
If I cry
can I hide salty tears
in the soft curve of your neck?
Can I bite, ever so gently,
before I scream?
Can I be your lover,
without you loving me?
Can I, please?

— The End —