Two Poems – A. Molotkov
March 21, 2018
if I take the jar inside
the water will spill
but how do I know this?
I forgot my own future
when I became engulfed in you
so much darkness
outside your well-lit room
I remain in the dark
if you let me shiver at the door
and freeze to death
as the jar freezes
I will be
your truest love
your empty stranger
if you take me home
let it be my home
I study longing
silence is the sea
we glide on uninterpreted
I remember thinking that
before I emptied my thoughts
into you
we can talk about the jar
and fall asleep
before the snow starts
I’d suspected myself all along. I deserve the harshest punishment available to me in my paralyzed state. I hope to extinguish my every hope. Your compass leads me through my imagined life. The difference between true and false is optional. I hold the jar.
if I were the one who waits
I’d let you in and tell you to flee
you’d lose your compass
and your watch
if you stay
so much ice awaits
so much snow
if I let you shiver at the door
you will spend your last minutes
thinking of a story to tell
I’ll wait inside
for your memories to freeze
if you left your home at dawn
I’d make wrong assumptions
but what’s the difference
if your watch says it’s noon
and it’s
already midnight?
one more dream by your side
would release the spell
my empty self
my selfless struggle
if you tell this story
I will leave enriched
with a full jar
My questions are irrelevant. Still, it’s better to ask, not to answer. My hair is wet from the snow. Your image turns me into an afterthought, the wind shreds me. The streetlights are silent, the city old. The buildings are unoccupied until proven otherwise. I remain outside even when I go in. I write letters to you on a poppy blossom, on a falling leaf. I dig a mass grave for questions.
if your compass pointed up
and said north
you would have to float
if the room is dim
and the evidence buried
under layers of dust
my fingerprints on the jar
expect my fingers
if I play my part
you may play yours
and let the water
spill unpunished
I’ll be the jar
if the hands of your watch
were amputated
I would still myself as well
I would keep our date
stuck in amber
I’d be there first
forever
if you listened by the door
for my final breath
I’d welcome you
into my private afterlife
like a verdict
A thought is not enough. Your absence excuses itself. I touch your hand in my memory. My memory retrieves your face. You smile. You are well-remembered. Do you really look like you? You don’t answer.
if I leave the jar outside
as an afterthought
you will keep your eyes closed
like a question
if the room is dim
it’s harder not to feel
the missing parts
missing chances
if you stayed
so much water in store for us
so little air
if you let me shiver at your feet
as my bloodless lips
struggle to express me
I will be your truest self
your perfect stranger
if I asked you to wait
your patience would be broken
I would steal your watch
break your compass
if your distance
is longer than your life
I will be content
in my role
a wrong turn
imagined by you
as the ice in the jar
melts before my body
thaws out
I take small sips from the jar. With each sip, the ending draws closer. Every absence is a presence elsewhere. I take the small boat out to sea. As the tide slides me towards the open ocean, it’s clear there will be no return. I welcome this understanding without panic. Have I known all along? Did I get out of bed so my life may end? The ocean is sad. Your ashes in the jar respect my fingers.
if I spent my final days
thinking of a story to tell
your silence
would be my reference
moments struggle with miles
when we thirst for time’s
best expression
if the jar were too heavy
to bring inside
my memory would perish
my love my hopes
my tiny presence
would not convince you
I’d wait
imagining winter
empty
dreaming of a full jar
Time and Absence
eighteen people died as I wrote this line
may someone remember them
let’s count silences
let’s share absence
on the vast snow field
of life’s empty page
our words
are grains of sand
how much sand does it take
to defeat entropy?
and yet
we are a story
that took fourteen billion years
to write itself
and I wonder
about all that sand
all that snow
I wrap myself in a cloud
and float away
like that kiss from years ago
nothing bothers me
the silence empties itself
into the cup of your hand –
and time is useless
when nothing remains
I wrap myself in a cloud
and float
effortless
I’m a map
I’m a memory
I’m a life
I’m a meaning
have a chance
to rust
have a nice go with it
let your molecules
oxidize
release control
there will be more of you
more of everyone
let time envelop you
swallow you
release your atoms
exchange thoughts
with laughing water drops
as you acquire color
celebrate silence
remain cheerful
as you disappear
a melody
doesn’t exist all at once
we hear a memory
enjoy an absence
we pretend that the past
is a living reference
that the moments
comprising our lives
make sense as a whole
that a note ago
we were the same
that a song
feels our presence
that a chord
struck at birth
still rings true when we die
we believe that a melody
remembers us
explosions
knock the world off its feet
as if everything
is too late
the smell of absence
why do I think my eyes
are the right ones
no matter the distance?
too late to change your life
at your age?
too late for anything?
let’s be silent
can I exchange my thoughts for yours?
the wolves are in the kitchen
when mysteries dissolve into promises
what is left?
why should my voice
be the right one
no matter the silence?
let me carry your bags
through the mirror
and through history
until dawn
do us part
and then I step out of my mind
and sense the sadness
your lip twitching just so
that crow on my back
begins to sing
to its own definition of music
and the weight of time on my eyes
subsides
I stretch my arms towards you
and in the distance between
I find a mirror
in which our reflections
can laugh at themselves
my absence
is a ticket
for your memories
like a story that struggles
to complete itself
I remember everything you didn’t say
let me think of you
on each page
all at once
not moment by moment
do I need your permission
to witness you?
do you need mine?
we are born
remembering
empty moments
turn me on the corner of my being
as I stop to consider
the possibility of being absent
it is the absences
that slide sadly through time
as if memories
were transparent
let me empty myself as well
so I can pass
through the eye
of the missing needle
that stiches the past and the future together
in this transparent moment
escape slowly
like wind from a bottle
the word is not afraid
and neither is the light
if distances
are longer than we thought
you should not collapse
get your folded life
in line
for your birthday
you must match
expectations
you don’t understand
listen and speak
when you hear silence
spark if you can spark
let me hear you
when I step outside
let me be alone
let me be with you
I last saw my mother
seven years ago
at the airport
a receding figure
there…there…gone…reemerging for a second…
gone
in darkness
in silence
we can establish
if it is all worth it
if the past is worth the future
and vice versa
it’s easy to imagine
myself in her place
I cooked her a meal one morning
fried bologna and potatoes
she used to make me when I
was a child
and now
with mortality in mind
I replayed the gesture
each time we make a choice
we are closer to the moment
when we have no choices left
years receding
summers disappearing
without a trace
memory
the only place
she lives
memory
the only gift
I can give her
in my worst case scenario
the wolves are in the kitchen
the candle is lit
in my worst case scenario
we have a fight
then one of us dies
in my worst case scenario
I wake up
and nothing is ready for the day
and there is no day
in my worst case scenario
the freeway comes to an end
but you don’t notice
you will keep driving
for as long as I remember you
may your trip be long
drift drift
let the world imagine you
someone
loves you
all life long
but has no part of you
a memory
of silence
encyclopedia
of mysteries
a rainbow
of darkness
someone
you wanted desperately
is not in your life
let the world drift through you
as it chooses its stories
if I had access
to my body
I would dance
a slow dance
with myself
to remind me
that even shadows sleep
even shadows dream
every night
I sleep with my shadow
if my body inquired
“who are you?”
I would respond:
I remember how it was
before I had weight
we used to share our days
but in this afterlife
it’s harder to keep in touch
on my map
the past is on the left
future on the right
I must be careful
to avoid spoilers
the scale of my map
is subject to my mood
at each moment
you might have to drive twelve thousand miles
to cross an hour
green lines
are for living memories
red lines
for dead ones
large bodies of blue
for destinies being conceived
and collapsing
into their own
intentions
large bodies of white
for those of us
still asleep
missing lines
for your thoughts
dotted lines
for absence
marveling at the possibility
of gravity
I step carefully
in case my feet touch the ground
if this air contained oxygen
I would breathe
if I remembered myself
I would be less stunningly absent
last time we met
you were a dead body
a bird
out to sea
exceeds speed limit
dies for distance
if the sea held water
I would emerge as a dolphin
watch myself from above
as a crow
if I were here
I would fill the void
of my body
listen make me listen
to be
I don’t know you
let me stay
let me imagine you
from a distance
disappear in light
like so many fading suns
explode
in silence
memory in melting
death in promise
hope in melody
if whispers could touch your skin
I’d bathe you
in a lullaby
tell me all you know
in one sentence
I unfold the ocean
and let it spread
over the table
the future
doesn’t bother me
you are floating there
on a boat
too small to see
I become one of those
who watch you from the distance
let me know if the years we have
are enough for us
can I express absence
more vividly
than by keeping silent?
I fold the distance in half
and then in half again
until you’re close
I stay awake
while you answer
I close the door behind you
but I’m the one outside
I change my mind
there is more to say
but the brass door handle
breaks off in my hand
childhood cat at my feet
no longer blind
smooth shiny fur
as if time fixed what it breaks
my body
neatly refurbished
cured of wrinkles and small pains
the cat walks away
next to my younger figure
I watch them disappear
I don’t notice my absence
unlock the distance
let the wolves escape
from your kitchen
the word is not afraid
and neither is the light
let my shadow
fall upon your face
but only briefly
water keeps flowing
through your thoughts
like dying
unforgiven
is absence measured in time
or indifference?
does the crow on your back
sing for you
or those you left behind?
you are a witness
to some of my life
I don’t know you
but
will you kindly finish
my story?
unlock the silence
there are no wolves
it was just something
I said
the sand
the snow
I draw a few continents
on a paper napkin
and those who live there
don’t realize how flimsy their ground is
can you refresh all my memories
at once?
can everything explode
in slow motion?
say nothing in my mind
keep your distance
in my worst case scenario
I die
as I write this last word
whisper me into space
I want the darkness
of galaxies
to converge on me
list my name
in a catalog of falling stars
on a page
whose number
is unimaginable
I insist on being a part
of an infinite queue of digits
I demand a microscopic space
within the rain of light years
make me a smiling atom
hiding in a friendly molecule
remember me into darkness
imagine me into silence
Selections from “Time and Absence” published by 2 River View, The Neglected Ratio, Connotation Press, Unshod Quills and Verseweavers.