Alexandra Gerasim


Страна: Россия

Лингвист, преподаватель, переводчик, поэт. Публиковалась в различных периодических изданиях, включая журналы «Юность», «Сибирские огни», «Новая Юность», «Зарубежные Задворки» и электронные ресурсы «Сетевая Словесность», «Новая Реальность», «Русский Переплёт», «Литературная Среда», «45 Параллель» и др.

Country: Russia

I am a linguist, teacher, translator, and poet. My literary works have been published in various periodicals of Russia, including the following journals: “Yunost”, “Sibirskiye Ogni”, “Novaya Yunost”, “Zarubezhnye Zadvorki”; and electronic resources: “Setevaya Slovesnost”, “Novaya Realnost”, “Russkiy Pereplet”, “Literaturnaya Sreda”, ” 45 Parallel “and others.



Mother’s Daughter

it was so weird
yet still so good
the snow and you
/my neighbourhood/
you shook the dust
off my coat’s hood
like no one would
and I grew small
as crumbs of ice
we both were water
/no capsize/
with no beginning
or a peak
you didn’t speak
but you had buds
within yourself
their whisper fierce
their sprouts elf
becoming flowers
on your chest
sucked to your breast
I knew for sure
I am your seed
I couldn’t brand you
couldn’t read
your name
I only kissed your brow
and sapped your vow
it was so weird
a distant rove
burnt milk subsided
on the stove
/outside the window
heavy streams/
you stood by me
exhaling gleams
how irrevocable
it seems
don’t come athwart
don’t waken grief
here in your nest
I’m like a leaf
forsaking a magnolia tree

arms of grass
are seeking free
to reach the peak
of summer heat
the house’s eaves
are ringing tweet
the coltsfoot’s zest
is hot and tense
beside the fence
just be my earth
my fertile soils
black chokeberries
that sunlight boils
and turns to ash
sing me a song
of brittle willows
which belong
to river banks
abrupt and steep
sing me about
how branches weep
tease me like shamrock
on the snow
go stoned as pebbles
and I’ll go
as small as mole
at your hand touch
melt on your shoulder
don’t say much
just listen
peaceful as it is
black berries overripe
and kiss
my childhood memories away
don’t cry for me
I’m here to stay
let’s count the tomtits
one two three
the forth is over there
you see
how blue is chaos of your eyes
as daylight dies
how big you are
how smart and gash
I’m smaller than your single lash
the winter’s twaddled with icy weaves
the window sash

don’t leave me now
until there’s light
on rowan limbs
ajangled tight
we’ll both come home
for dinner when
there’s muffin scent
tea cups will float
above the ground
like steamships
sugar cubes will sound
like rock materials that cleave
there now we’ll leave
we’ll be two things
so new and fine
so owned and homely
as we dine
but here we are
amidst the prints
thrown back by tomtits
/biting hints/
developed on a rowan thread
like fineness of a knife in bread

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