You Bury Me

by Polina Solovyeva


Yesterday my friend came
to prove to me that
all of the words are
false and we finished
a pack of cigarettes, talking
conversations we’ve been 
talking always:
names of the people have changed,
the “you-know-it-is-me” look 
that she gives me stayed:
raw and silent, a justification
that all is well,
that the planet Earth is still round,
that the things are whole,
that no one is ever going to die.
We were staring
at the city’s sky that stared 
back at us, looking tired looking
like it has spilled its true
pathetic love words
on someone,
turbulent and empty,
as big as it was when our bodies
were not covered with
dead skin and unshaved hair,
as our as it was when our flesh
belonged just to us.
Barefoot and too lazy
to wear bras and search for meaning
we finished the pack while
she was telling me
that there was a boy
who touched her bellybutton with
the tip of his tongue
and pretended not to notice
pimples on her face and
rough skin on her feet.
Then she gave me her
raw look and counted
cracks on my lips:
the words turned out to be false,
the planet Earth was round,

and no one was ever going to die.

 

Author Biography: Polina Solovyeva is originally from Moscow, Russia, but currently studies at The Hotchkiss School in Lakeville, CT. She attended the New England Young Writers’ Conference at Breadloaf and graduated from the Iowa Young Writers’ Studio in Iowa City. She works at the Glass Kite Anthology literary journal as a Prose Reader and at the Siblíni Art and Literature Journal as a Junior Editor.