Poet’s Biography
Valzhyna Mort
I picked your book from Sandeep’s shelf,
the poet’s biography read: “lives and teaches.”
Though the book was fairly recent, it was no longer true.
I almost met you once – an almost-meeting I remember clearly
because of my embarrassment:
I was having loud sex in a hotel room
while you stood knocking at the door wanting to give me your book.
Now the trains stand frozen in a winter storm,
and I pity the trains
as if they were shivering butterflies,
a whole herd of them, the last of its kind,
stuck in the snow England has never seen.
Sandeep is cooking dinner, you are dead, the lover’s gone,
your book in my frostbitten hands.