Telephone Wire
I stood in Akhmatova’s kitchen. Clothes hung drying and made the room damp, said the brochure. People wandered through like in any communal apartment and whispered into the phone. She walked among them in genteel slippers, halfway to the afterlife. There is nothing to say that Blok has not said, Mandelstam, Brodsky, Altman, Modigliani. […]