Ilya To Emilia Perhaps, Kabakovian Summer Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

ILYA TO EMILIA PERHAPS, KABAKOVIAN SUMMER

for Ilya and Emilia Kabakov


taken this way, sorrow is almost Atlantis, Kietezh rising

from a dreamy lake disguised in children's daydreams

rising from the roofs like wounded swans imperial

when shall I rise when shall I paint old dawns

as if there were angels thronging to meet us

on the other side of all the museum pieces

until they are more than bearable

filled with the silver point of what I imagined to be true

that invisible cities resided behind old baseboards

of the bittersweet afternoons of the glorious installations

of our love

that we were citizens

of the heavenly country beyond the trivialities

and that we would not falter. even turned to dust.

forgive me dear that now as a ghost of the former Long Island.

Soviet Union, Venice, draped in purple

I can no longer eat the golden pears of summer

that I have drawn for you now

upon the rickety table, among things familiar

to us both.

mary angela douglas 26 june 2023