Rodina Feldervatova
the community’s black angel—
well, we come to you,

having failed to sink
our own webbed fingers
in the chilled earth where

you hang out. I think
you are doomed to become
symbols for us that we 

will never call by name.
But what rifles through
our heads is silence, one

either beyond or below
whatever it is that we do
know. We know by heart,

don’t we? We’ve never
learned. And we bring what
we have known to you, now,

tonight. Open your home
to us, Rodina. Kiss
our brains. Tell us that

we are not drunk, and
that we may spend
our summers with you.