Erika Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Erika

You,
You the white, soft chested blonde
You, the home-ridden immigrant
You, the child of cultureless cultures
You the Ukrainian
Oh you
You and I, Erika
I, short fat brown silver head like an owl
I, the home-ridden immigrant
I, the child of cultureless cultures

We
We, the lost in newness of the new
We, the racing racists caught by racism
We

Oh we the poor runners to catch up
We, the runners to nowhere-ness of the nowhere
You busy with texting and I with the VW
No not the Volks Wagon
Yes, Virginia Woolf

We spoke
In your language
On the soft wings of Russian,
We flew to Kharkov
The border city torn
Torn by imposed politics...
Politics; politics, politics...

We talked, hugged and on surface
How I wish
I wish we had gone deep
Deeper than deep

What do they know?
(The TV watchers and listeners of Radio)