plastic

Author: Ivan Ovcharenko

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i go out to the store

in a country that is at war

i buy water

two five-liter bottles

they are heavy

the plastic handle

pierces into my skin

as if

craving for blood

but it’s not my blood

befalling the earth

when my bottles are full

i carry them home

just like jesus carried his cross

with a key i open the door

and come in

in the kitchen i

pour some water

into the kettle

and put it on fire

i look at the window

and

i wish i could break

it

and

cut myself with the shards

to feel

what i'm supposed to be

feeling

i feel like kneeling

and praying my heart away

but the windows are plastic

so is everything anyway

in a country that is at war

there's no point in praying

plastic is the god

so is my mother's love

so is her pirozhkis' smell

so are her words

so are the birds

she is feeding every morning

so is her asking me not to worry

in a country that is at war

so am i

wishing that i could cry

wishing i haven't spent all my tears before

in the country not yet at war

i'm afraid of what if

the only tear

i could muster

is also

plastic