I imagined the return at the end of my sentence

on a street in Moscow

thinking the worse was already over.


I rushed at the gate

but something warned me.


The guards let me loose in a swamp.

What use was running to me?


I had carefully bathed,

tucked handkerchiefs in my pocket

where the children would search to find sweets.


I had no idea why everybody looked away.


The submission window for miracles closed

and I again

missed the deadline.



Maria Stadnicka
Illustration: Claire Palmer

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