I wrote this poem in June, and then later went on to make a further sieres with the same idea about a French girl named Genevive, and her travles around the world.
Genevive in Moscow
Genevive puts her hands in her pockets
she sighs
It is snowing and her hat covers her ears.
It’s cold.
mornings are difficult in moscow
mornings are difficult anywhere, actualy.
but moving 8 countries over is hard
in itself. This morning I believe she said
She could hardly get out of bed and
Missed her train By 10 minutes. But, back to
this:
as she crosses the street she zipps up her
fourth layer, and heads for the coffee
shop, though the sign, at least to her,
Is entirely uninteligable
She has a buiscut and coffee and eats the crumbs.
secretly, she slurps.
When the bill comes, she looks pained
It’s large.
then she blames the menue
she cant read russian.
next time, though, when she finds out
Oktovo Olenovdsky works at Dobre Din, the coffee shop down the street,
she thinks better to go there and dreams that
Oktovo will read for her. When he gives her the bill, though,
Its the same price.
Next time when she goes he asks: how about today the Alexandovsky garden, near
Simi’s house?
she says yes. Now they speed past roads and frozen trees.
the winter, she finds, doesnt feel so cold
Copyright 2012 Golden Star Poetry
Golden Star Poetry 