A Country in the Shape of a Puddle, on the Map

--Ludmila Khersonsky (trans. Valzhyna Mort)

A country in the shape of a puddle, on the map.

Any country is an easy target in March,

in June, July, August, September, October,

as long as it rains

and maps litter the street.

Stop, who goes there, General Oaken Knees.

Red Square of his naked chest shines the way.

And behind him, a half-shadow, half-man,

half-orphan, half-exile, whose mouth is as coarse

as his land –

double-land where every cave is at war.

Do you say there won’t be a war? I say nothing.

A small gray person cancels

this twenty first century,

adjusts his country’s clocks

for the winter war.