Leaving Lviv

By OLENA JENNINGS

Empty streets, even our taxi 
is missing, but the train station 
is crowded. I comb  
my hair, looking at  
the reflection 
in the ticket window. 
I look out at the morning. 
The morning isn’t working. 
Light in the station  
replaces the sun. 
We walk along the platform. 
Inside the car, we look at 
my reflection 
in the window. 
We are ready to see 
my reflection in other faces.  
The countryside passes. 
We are afraid of loss, 
looking into each other’s faces. 
His stare will keep me in place, 
my green eyes, coloring his brown.  
We drank beer with the poet 
and he pulled me into translation, 
at the moment and on the page. 
I only wanted what was familiar, 
the shapes that were always  
beneath my fingers. 
I wanted to learn the contours of my own 
voice in our closed compartment.  

 

[Purchase Issue 31 here.]

 

Olena Jennings is the author of the collection The Age of Secrets. She is the translator or co-translator of collections by Ukrainian poets Iryna ShuvalovaKateryna KalytkoVasyl MakhnoYuliya Musakovska, and Anna Malihon. She lives in Queens, New York City, where she founded the Poets of Queens reading series and press.

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Leaving Lviv

Related Posts

SAMINA NAJMI headshot

Conjuring Home: Talia Lakshmi Kolluri interviews Samina Najmi

SAMINA NAJMI
I don’t know that objectivity is either possible or desirable—I share that thought with students, even about my own course syllabi—because our social locations determine so much of our perspective. But I’m grateful for a multiplicity of views, including on myself.

Opening ceremony from Calgary Olympics

How to Cry in Public Places

EMILIA DŁUŻEWSKA
This is not a book about making lemonade from the lemons life gives you. It’s closer to the story of my friend who, suffering from a rare and incurable illness, gradually lost control of his body, including his vocal cords. The day we met, he could only whisper.