Stealing Green

Published in Issue 1 of Heartburn Review

When my mother left, I sat down in the dirt,

Pried kopeikas from the sun-hot cobblestones,

Put them in an egg peeling with paintflowers.

After two weeks I broke the shell with my teeth,

Stuffed my pockets with grubby hands and walked

To the slanted market under a winter sun.

The coins slid easily, slick with sweat

Into the palm of a yellow-toothed woman

I told her, Mama’s eyes are green like candy

I told her, Mama is frying blini at home.

She let me touch every heart on her table and

I picked a pretty one for my mother, brought it

Back to heat on the stove while I sucked on my lie;

Mama’s eyes are green like mold.