Anna Akhmatova burned

    her poems and the light of Madrid was like water

    at La Latina luncheonette I ate a cup of chocolate

    and a motor oil churro

    every day for a week

    recovering

    ……the cherry bomb alley that was our street

    Hotel Chelsea ablaze from a rum-soaked pillow and a cigarette， 1977

    iron balconies were dropping like lace

    windows were popping like sobs……

    "Can you describe this？" someone asked

    Anna Akhmatova

    as she stood on line "Yes"

    she said "I can"