Russian Ballet

 

In Leningrad after the ballet, I felt the first pain

Of the illness

And arabesequed to the glass walled hospital room with rusty sink and toilet

Bathtub with faucet stuck

A hot, tropical gush of water

Cockroaches racing over the walls

Besides me adjusting the IV

And smiling kindly with stainless steel teeth

In white scarf, in smooth, pink skin, a nurse

“Plop, plop” she says

As the fluid into my vein

The water into the bathtub

The rain drenching the thick trees outside

Visible in the white night

The tears are held back in the glass of my eyes

Tinkling of balaika music

I stretch into my too-large –pajamas

I’ve become a skeleton now

As they detain my day after day.

 

Quarantine, I am told

But I understand it is the flexed muscle of

Boris, the straining, mad weight lifter.