Poems By Valeria
I clutch the pomegranate
and push it down, cheek against the cutting-board,
its muscley maroon hide resilient against my fingers.
If I cut I am complicit
It is late August and rain slashes down.
I wished we could stay forever on your bed
meshed and wrapped together
But you said we'd be frozen that way.
You are Other,
And such a mystery that you my Love are not myself.
You go into the downpour again.
I go and the rain floods me
and I take my ball and scepter
and pierce the fruit of autumn.
The seeds burst out and I eat them whole.
Carving a Pumpkin
Crossing the fine line,
carving features from the flesh –
The same transcendent sense of purpose
of the artist as he elevates the marble eyes, nose, lips
in sublime organic relief.
Ribbed body in warm tones,
accepting negative space that takes from it itself
but makes it something new, definite, beautiful.
The sacrifice of the whole
to the finished product –
I want to be like you,
molded, elevated, cut with a vision,
broken in a pattern that becomes a window
to the inner soft essence,
the simplest stuff that becomes my gift to posterity.
Valeria Tsygankova is originally from
Moscow, but currently lives in Philadelphia, where she is an
undergraduate student at the University of Pennsylvania studying
English and Philosophy. She is previously unpublished as a poet,
but is making forays into the market and is very excited about
contributing her work to Chantarelle's Notebook.