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Poems by Michael Cooney
The Confusion of Katya
(after Akhmatova)
A river flows past
a dome of many windows.
Monks are chanting.
My sister and I hear the mass, waiting for Catherine's barge
and the sweep of her golden wheat.
On the third day the aging
Tsarina rides alone through ripening fields.
She takes my grandmother's ancient hand
and on the crooked staircase
kisses my lips.
Sappho to Gongyla
(inspired by several fragments
from the Greek)
My face was hot. My need was
strong.
I saw you lifting your arms at the edge of the sea.
Did you truly expect to touch
the sky?
You did not glance in my direction.
You did not hear me breathing as I breathed your name.
When the moon sets, I will
still be here counting the stars.
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