Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to...


Claudia Bierschenk

Perestroika Silence


remember, sister

helicopters in the dark

oversized insects


stirring polka dots

on night’s black overcoat


gazing out the window

into the eastern sky

we used to count them,

monotonous humming -

our lullaby


when the Russians left

their airbase abandoned

when our part of the world

had almost blended with the other


sleep eluded me for hours

in this long awaited silence





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