I know how you like it—dry heat
           and spicy
I was taught тоска instead of warmth
I grew weeds out my heart mulch
           три года by the Volga river
before the big move

I know you don’t eat meat
but summer of ’98,
my grandma and I buried
           our pet canary behind
                      our дача
I couldn’t see, but I think we buried
           a piece of the Sun
how is that for summer love

My папа once bought me
a bridge as a gift—
           for a baby girl of two—
I’m sure you could tell me
what kind if I could describe
it better than just “yellow”