poem
Volume 35, Number 2

Election Day, Moscow

in memoriam Alexei Navalny

It was the last day of voting.
They all came at noon precisely:
some brought ink to spill or fire, or a rose
they would place on the latest grave.

They all came at noon precisely
to stand in line, one after the other,
as if waiting to place a rose on a grave.
They waited for their turn inside,

standing in line, one after the other,
not speaking much among themselves
but waiting for their turn inside,
feeling the warmth of other bodies.

They did not speak among themselves.
Some would be taken away in police cars
after feeling the warmth of other bodies.
The rest would go home to cook supper

while some were taken away in police cars.
It was noon, the last day of voting.
Some would go home to cook supper
but not those who brought ink or fire, or a rose.


—Susanna Lang