Steven Godin’s Reviews > Selected Poems > Status Update
Steven Godin
is on page 56 of 176
When winter comes, unpitying, it will
twist off the thatch from our wood roof. And if
we make a child, we'll call the boy Andrei,
Anna the girl, so that our Russian speech,
imprinted on its little wrinkled face,
shall never be forgot. Our alphabet's
first sound is but the lengthening of a sigh
and thus may be affirmed for future time.
— Sep 06, 2019 02:39AM
twist off the thatch from our wood roof. And if
we make a child, we'll call the boy Andrei,
Anna the girl, so that our Russian speech,
imprinted on its little wrinkled face,
shall never be forgot. Our alphabet's
first sound is but the lengthening of a sigh
and thus may be affirmed for future time.
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Steven’s Previous Updates
Steven Godin
is on page 104 of 176
Let's call it quits. A sign, no doubt, of flabbiness.
Foreseeing your sarcastic lack of sadness,
in this remote place, I would bless non-drabness:
the buzzing of a blindingly bright wasp
above a simple daisy can unnerve me.
I see the sheer abyss that lies before me.
My consciousness whirls like a spinning fan wheel
about the steady axis of my past.
— Sep 07, 2019 07:23AM
Foreseeing your sarcastic lack of sadness,
in this remote place, I would bless non-drabness:
the buzzing of a blindingly bright wasp
above a simple daisy can unnerve me.
I see the sheer abyss that lies before me.
My consciousness whirls like a spinning fan wheel
about the steady axis of my past.
