Poem for Our Ritual
Listen to Polina Korobitsyna read her poem:
Another vacation means another
performance: our luggage, still
smelling of the storage unit, piles
in the living room—dust coating
the zippers. I come downstairs
with wet hair—instantly, I am
the zippers. I come downstairs
with wet hair—instantly, I am
scolded: don’t go out like that
or you’ll catch something you can’t
shake. Meanwhile, water from my hair
or you’ll catch something you can’t
shake. Meanwhile, water from my hair
stipples the good velvet
couch Dad brought with him
from Russia, leaving traces
couch Dad brought with him
from Russia, leaving traces
