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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required There's no mobile internet all day; Ukraine is flying drones My mother, a sure reincarnation of Caterina Sforza Who else would be so impeccably dressed in A crimson jacket and a chic silk blouse when's it's anomalously hot in May? We saw Romeo and Juliet, a Gérard Presgurvic musical. The verdict? ''Too raunchy, too loud, too much dancing.'' Me, Countess of black cats and Lady of possums — I feel like a prehistoric curio pet in a cloud of Shalimar And the music swims back to me By God, it all just grabs me most violently And I know I want to dress real nice, I'll be a funny Anne Boleyn And I know those dead rascal Persian children will forever play with undead children Amongst endless Indiana cornfields And I know I am Sarah and you're Mohammed And I know Russia and America won't always be circling each other And I know I am from Izmir and you're from Cyprus And I know everyone young and beautiful will just be dancing with Their silly yellow stars on They'll just dance, dance, dance until this strange sin is no more They'll just dance, dance, dance light into being And I know I'll go see that play about a Russian winemaker and a Polish musician And I know I'll light a candle to St Jadwiga to bring my South African lover back And I know we'll go to Uruguay and do 101 sun salutations And I know we are Dodi and Camilla and we'll be sipping Chilled white wine and gingerly nibbling on little vegan cakes In pretty Bergen-Belsen And I know we're going to become marvelously angelic somehow, some day And I know it'll be all Belgian candies, sexytimes and Omar Khayyam poems And I know all sensitive and non-violent males Will be awfully useful during a crisis And I know all hyphenated persons won't be different people in different languages On my way home I see a stern fisherman by the Fontanka — My blackfella heart instantly senses something, a falling black cockatoo feather perhaps I watch a dying fish flail around fornlornly as if it was a sacrifice to some dark Reptilian god Under the sliver of a young waxing moon The fisherman knows the Moon Man is bad As high priest to the Moon Man, the fisherman guards every piglet tragedy And I know I love my hyphenated blackfella alien heart And I know I am quite enough And I know I am quite enough
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