Tapestry Coat

Tapestry Coat

 

Moscow, January, a thin tapestry coat –

buildings shone in the moonlight –

blues and reds like my frail coat all woven

against the white sky.

It’s the 70s, black-market streets, ice pavements

Even the food didn’t warm, hard boiled eggs

floating in cabbage broth. Every bit of the cold

I was responsible for – failed marriage, carrying a child

with a man I thought could have been a husband

– I tried to phone home.

My money didn’t understand the system and roubles

dropped through. Every night I prayed to a God

I no longer believed in and tried to imagine Mam-Gu,

disbelief in her voice, Fy Dduw, Fy Dduw, bach 

Fy Dduw My God

Bach dear, little one