Dmitry Blizniuk is an author from Ukraine. His most recent poems have appeared in River Poets Journal (USA), The Courtship of Winds (USA), Dream catcher (UK), Reflections (UK), The Ilanot Review (Israel), In Layman’s Terms (USA). He is a finalist for 2016 Award “Open Eurasia”, “The Best of Kindness 2017” (USA). He lives in Kharkov, Ukraine.
You are a cat,
and all your nine lives are wasted on trifles,
on washing and cooking and tidying up,
on war painting your face and body,
on taking cat naps beside the cradle.
I have so little of you left to hold –
shall I pour you some moon milk?
I’m reading you like teenage adventures of Sherlock,
like crib notes written on a girl’s knees.
All that is left of you is La Peau de chagrin
that gets smaller and thinner with years,
but I never give up wishing, longing.
A small feather sticks out of the pillow
like a skiing track on a mountain slope;
the caramel moon shines through the window,
and I’m looking at you through the years
as if through a heavy snowfall:
you’re smiling, and your lips
in the flurry of the falling snowflakes.