leaves of an invisible tree, shed on the road,
you never walk again,
until you reach the point—
nowhere else to go.
Faint smiles, funny bonnet, neatly trimmed
mustache, tight epauletted uniform, and my dad
in girls’ dress on the unknowable friends’ lap.
Postcards from the other side of the mirror,
cracked long ago in the family apartment,
where nobody lives, except my dream,
interrupted abruptly by the alarm. Time to get up,
go on and open the icebox of oblivion.
Step into January of life,
open frozen Jeep door.
Andrey Gritsman received his MFA in poetry from Vermont College. He runs the Intercultural Poetry Series in a popular literary club, Cornelia Street Café, in New York City.