The Russian
I
The Russian had the heart of Mother Teresa
I'd lean into the bar with head in arms
& kick the copper panel after school
til the soles of my shoes fell out
while she did dishes on the other side
she'd ask how I was
young & sad
those things were hard to shake
especially as a pair
II
The days crawled along in the shadowy spots
I was parasite
we lived off broken cookies
crumbs at least
we could call ours
maybe the Russian needed somewhere to go once
when she was young
somebody
must have done her well
she'd ask how I was
I learned to sweep
& wash dishes
III
The Russian had patience eternal
she'd look after
any stray that passed through
it made for an island
of hotheaded misfits,
dejected saints,
broken toys
winters were harsh
the few of us huddled in the garage
with the resonant snow slapping up against it
in soft piles
all the women
who passed us by
felt the scorn
on our tongues
IV
She would stitch me back together
every few weeks
& recklessly
not well adjusted to the fit of lightness
I'd return with torn hands
I wished things easier for her
earnestly
that was beyond me
I washed the dishes
swept & mopped
every night
once the quiet rose
a cool mist set on our little chunk of earth
find solace in a cigarette
sometimes
even the moon
V
the Russian was big sister
the house of cast offs was a kind place to suffer
beyond that
maybe even
to learn a little goodness
VI
I got better
at being light-hearted
who we were
was unimportant
VII
engraved into the brick keystone
above the back door
'time stop
for not nobody
godamit'
the Russian quit the cafe
she brought over bags stuffed with bread
every week
from across town
one of the old men started bringing by bottles
he was proud of his memory
that would change in a few years
VIII
they'd come by
& lay heads on the bar
or stand in the street
& shout to god
or walk in shadow
& haunt my nooks
while I did the dishes
I started eating suffering
for every meal
down the line
an ulcer
or somethin’
IX
I was a monster sept into every crack in town
many houses learned my name
& it tasted gunpowder,
proved just as inflammatory
my gluttony knew no end
X
I was still trying to figure out
what the keystone meant
by the time my name was carved into the countertop next to hers
church was long over
The Russian must have gotten tired
I'd try to tell myself
her patience must have waned
now&then
last I heard
she walks strays
at the animal shelter
XI
When the years descend on us like buzzards & the city all eaten by tides we wrought
A modest statue
to commemorate
that kindness
kept the kids alive