Anna Akhmatova burned
her poems and the light of Madrid was like water
at La Latina luncheonette I ate a cup of chocolate
and a motor oil churro
every day for a week
recovering
……the cherry bomb alley that was our street
Hotel Chelsea ablaze from a rum-soaked pillow and a cigarette， 1977
iron balconies were dropping like lace
windows were popping like sobs……
"Can you describe this？" someone asked
Anna Akhmatova
as she stood on line "Yes"
she said "I can"