Stolen Story

Adoration, incarnation, estrangement
and intrigues of those who once sought love.
 
Everything is intertwined, stuck together in one hot lump,
rolling down doomed to the abyss
Only the smell of fresh kulich remains forever.
 
April sneaked into the room insensibly, soundlessly
agile as a cat. And along with it came my beloved holiday,
my favorite smell.
 
Me in my white nightgown, off the bed, running down the hall.
My mother’s back meets me in the kitchen along with a red
polka dot dress an a hoarse voice of the radio.
«Not ready yet. Go wash your face.» Mother puts her big warm
hand on my small unkempt head of hair.
The ice cold water washes sleep off my face.
 
And here I am flying down the stairs. One step, two steps.
Father’s indignation and mother’s loud response are getting quieter
with every floor.
«What are you doing, Shura? What will people think?
You can smell the aromas a mile away!»
 
Deep down father loved the freshly baked fruit
of the forbidden holiday, of course.
However, the Party didn’t quite share his warm feelings.
 
As I’m walking to school my apron keeps my posture straight
and the heavy knapsack doesn’t let me soar into the sky.
Only April wants to play.
Recess can’t come soon enough! So I can have some of the kulich
that mother wrapped for me this morning.
 
I rush to the far corner window  that’s right in front of a seniors’ classroom.
Everyone is acting very strange. I’m picking up just bits and pieces
of the conversation  and struggling to find a familiar face.
I see two girls weeping in the distance. And suddenly my heart slows down the time.
 

You were a warm look in the morning crowd and I was a smile in return.
No names, no words, no boring conversations. Just kind and simple love.
And there I was all frozen by the window when the obnoxious bell crashed
right into my skin.
 
It didn’t matter. I didn’t think of moving. I stood and watched how
my mother’s bread was soaking up the salty water of my sorrows.
 
«Hey you. Let’s go!» Someone out of nowhere grabs my shoulder.
When I look up I see a blurry shape. It’s Tonya.
«Come on, let’s go to class or we will get in trouble!»