The Stitches Of Sketchery Poem by Anna Polibina-Polansky

I stand at the mossy and grassy crossroads of the city And wait for the past to occur. Fungus and cobwebs do not freighten me anymore. I am in habit of waiting and sipping the core Of the local civilization. Concrete roads lead me to renewed ladders in haze. I watch and wonder if I am able to be found a-waited and vigil. I wonder if angels may find me doing good, in right sensations. I wonder if I could comprehend those accidental strings of sense. I am taken by hand, my palm knows by heart I am taken aback. I am blankly married, briskly found, briefly up wedded. I barely know my bridegroom, only by false sensations, by feigned emotions, by rotten pleasure. I feebly know that I am stiffly, leadenly married. I hardly know who I am and what I am meant for. Kids appear and go, leaving me forsaken. My feelings are meek and wrong, in whole. I stand and count sparrows and crows. My poetic lines call their losses and missed aims, aloud. The quibbles of Samuel Beckett hold me yet tighter.2022, Moscow. By Anna Polibina-Polansky