Vinokurov Evgeny


“She sits down for a meal, divides a morsel.
“Eat up!” I do. Or else I’ll get what for!
She bangs the pots and pans around, a goddess.
She reads a book. And then she sweeps the floor.
She pads around barefooted in my jacket.
At morning, in the kitchen, she sings away.
Love? No! Whatever gave you that idea?
It’s just that if she leaves me,
I shall die.”