one day in moscow
In Moscow, we can dance our faux ballet outside the birthday cake cathedrals that are swirly pink&green, their tops that look like Christmas tree baubles. The boys on the bench behind us, with names like Alexei and Nikolai, trade silly poetry with vulgar punchlines. Their chastushkas are terrible, but it's hard not to smile. On the pavement we can write "Dear stranger" letters in chalk, quoting authors like Leo Tolstoy and J.D. Salinger, playwrights like Anton Chekhov and Tennessee Williams. We laugh at our own fragmented Russian phrases, those American ways that will always be part of who we are. This is how it is, being as we would in America and eloping with Russia, our lover for the day.