Sometimes I dream of Siberia
and reindeer herds invading wilderness
invisible on paper maps or Google.
From nowhere a tiny village:
a post office, gas station, two hotels
an outdoor pool for masochists;
mountains wear a cloak of ice
the Moscow cook's on strike again
as executioner climate change
advances drunk with forest songs
sink-holes, universal negligence;
tundra worms freeze solid underground.
Shamanic laments echo across a lake
where brittle waterfalls stand
frozen at oblivion's farthest edge
and fat-wrapped grandmothers
light midnight candles to the saint
of trembling concertinas.
Lamplit Underground, October 2019. Editor Janna Liggin