Janiculum

by Marina Eskina
translated by Ian Ross Singleton

Janiculum
Ânikulum

At dawn, on the hill above, a rooster crowed and crowed
and woke and stirred my soul, reminded me of you, love.
I still see and hear your wry glance and awkward laughter.
Maybe because you’re not nearer, you’re dearer than all.

The hill’s shadow covers the sandy eternal city like the tide,
as if time wants to wipe itself out, level off its depth.
Sun melts his back, yet the victor stands astride.
It’s our turn to decide: Rome or death.

The world seemed unfathomable, and Rome left us stunned,
even the backstreets.  Where its “backstreets” are, who knows.
The riverbank,
a cigarette — the two of us shared one —
and the plane trees inhaled freedom’s ghostly smoke.

The sun slipped behind the hill to orbit the planet.
Try to prove the opposite . . .
A merry-go-round made

of neon motorcycles lost its momentum, then quit.
And a pony, piebald like that April, was led away.

Published in The Wax Paper, (Spring 2019)