Stroll Through The Gardens of the Winter Palace
The crack to the west is about to be filled
with bone or marzipan, it has not been decided.
Choose the colour and finish, the workforce
is taken care of with a contract more binding than the word
of a star cluster.
If you cannot love the people at least
love the architecture. That is the most indirect way
one can love a person.
Almost tripping on a stone tile, Little Europe wonders
if a shattered nose will sound different
from the curtsy of a chandelier, trying to calculate
the radius of the bloodstain.
The garden feels alive with hunger.
No one can blame it, to live under a name eliciting
eternal deprivation. Just over the fence is not much better.
Even with a letter for softening
the words bite, the names for pine and snowdrop.
This is a language no book could contain, no teacher
could convey the beauty of a broken apple branch or shattered eggshell
for it to sound like a ballad. For a second
she considers playing at gardener
if only to discover how fast words decompose.
Margaryta Golovchenko is an undergrad student at the University of Toronto, Canada, and edits for the journals The Spectatorial, Half Mystic, and Venus Magazine. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in places like Contemporary Verse 2, Metatron, Luna Luna Magazine, and others. Her debut poetry chapbook Miso Mermaid has recently been published by words(on)pages press. She is convinced she was a hedgehog in her past life, and can be most often found sharing her (mis)adventures @Margaryta505.