Poem by Mykyta Ryzhykh

 

First published in Crank, May 2023

Copper night knocks
On the back of the head asks:
"What street is this?"
And this is not a street,
This is the whole life.
Here at the age
Of 4 I drank sleeping pills,
At 14 I lost my virginity,
At 24 I lost my family,
At 34 my father died (thank God, my father died).
Now I'm free like the cry of a newborn.
I'm single, like when I was born.
A lonely body without everything
Meaningful, invented, composed.
The body, by its movement forward,
Has reached the very beginning.
Ashes close to dust.
And suddenly the night opens its
Lunar hood, and now death looks
At me with its bony eyes.
"Come on, friend," I said to death,
"I hope you don't turn me into a zombie."
The door of cast iron milk opened.
And I started drinking.
My teeth turned black and fell out.
Birds pecked out my eyes.
My body fell off me. Copper night,
Pig-iron milk, golden memory.
And suddenly: emptiness.