August

By ALEXEI TSVETKOV

 

apples went brown and sizzled on the ground
the instant they touched it and the vain promise
of autumn stayed just that the august was
interminable and the vet was blunt
a month at best he said and that was not
a promise so we farmed the ailing dog
out to the in-laws and just left him there

 

the dog was nothing much a foundling from
some shelter in ann arbor yet he served
our marriage as a mascot and we dreaded
to watch him die i visited the in-laws
on my way back from the big apple he
was all but gone already and his final
night on this earth we spent in the same bed
under the stars out on a creaky porch
under a constant drum-beat of the apples
hitting the ground in my wife’s father’s orchard
he was atremble entering the vast
terrain of nowhere it was so damn hot

 

our bedroom was facing the iwo jima
memorial where we used to walk him while
in better health there on a bench i tried
to calm her down there i consoled us both
as best i could while filing for divorce
a month at best the month was august which
was on its last allowance autumn came

 

 

Alexei Tsvetkov is a Russian poet and essayist with several published poetry collections to his credit. 

[Purchase your copy of Issue 05 here]

August

Related Posts

Image of hawk in sky

August 2024 Poetry Feature: New Poems By Our Contributors

NICOLE COOLEY
The incinerator smoke an incision in the sky. / My daughter no longer small yet still I want to swallow her back into my body. / Sky a scalding. / My daughter asks me to stop saying, I wish this wasn’t the world you have to live in. / In my dream my girl is the size of a thumb I catch between my teeth. / Sky all smoke.

Black and white picture of a house.

Daddyland

CIGAN VALENTINE
We ask you where you had gone, / And you say you became blue / From when the sky had swallowed you, / And spat you back up. / For you are the worst type of unbeliever. / You only believe in love. / You do not believe in forgiveness. / Before eating, / We recite your list of those who have wronged you.

Anzhelina Polonskaya poses, showing only her face.

The Visual Poetry of Anzhelina Polonskaya

ANZHELINA POLONSKAYA
Snow, listen up. Your eyes are dead. / We know full well we’re being led / like hostages of universal blindness. / Who are we, then? Unknown and homeless. // We push ahead, there’s howling all around. / And far away we see a burning bush. / The birds that flew off south / will not return. Our Rome is smashed.