POETRY

By Tatiana Retivov 

You were in a wheel­bar­row that day

when the wind overturned

trees, trash­cans,

and I was being born.

In the pavil­ion Hazel foamed

while Furies hovered above,

their hands wrung with joy.

She kept me deadlocked

like Julius Caesar

in a pool of blood.

Then you diverted

oh so smoothly

my Hazel’s wrath.

What color are her eyes?

You won­dered.

Of the sea, she said, look.

You looked bay-ward and saw

the oblique horizon merge

here with sky, there with swamp,

faith­ful to neither.

Then looking blood-ward you saw me,

grey-eyed like Athena.

This story orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 17.

Photo by Zoltan Tasi.