Undying Muse

For Anna Akhmatova

I engrave your portrait on a piece of woodYou, the conscience of Russia—Some only saw your elegance, nobility,and the beauty deep within your marrowWho would have known you’d pass through hell so many timesWithout a doubtthe bones and words of those who cursed yourotted long ago in the dust of timeThat was you—the cold wind tousled your beautiful hairYou were in line, slowly moving forwardin the procession of those visiting the prisonersto see your son and give him a mother’s comfortYour shoulders were draped in a blue shawlYour eyes were like the Virgin Mary’s—tranquil as ever like a bottomless abyssThat was you—The stove’s fire went out long ago, your hands frozeThe blizzard outside howled, and beat against the windows of fateEven though there was no way to knowwhether tomorrow would bring you life or deathUnconcerned with this, you still wrote poemsExcited and trembling, your face flushed like a young woman’s