Remembering Emma Goldman

In a garden by the French sea she wanders,
"Sasha, where are you?"

Once were flags and speeches
Revolutionary rhythm
Flush of rising passion.
Anarchy's flame,
"To the daring belong the future!"
Then exile, relentless dispossession.
Communist Russia was filled with starving
Lenin was a heartless uncle laughing.
Dreams drifted out to sea,
The flame flickered
Emma realized she was lost.
Departed then to France
A cottage by the sea, pen and paper.
Many letters between them,
Emma & Sasha, so far apart
40 years wandering in desolation
True comrades, but separated
Each a leitmotif within the other's soul.
One thousand letters,
Each a bid for sanity, the reach of two hands
Gripped across ten thousand miles.
When finally a telegram came,
Come quickly! The train was slow.
Emma held his hand that had held a gun,
But the bullet was not merciful.
By evening Sasha left her.

In a garden by the French sea she wanders,

"Sasha, where are you?"
"Sasha, where are you?"

By Michael Burns

Corridor of Years - circa 2014

Saturday night on floor eleven
Through wide windows
City of Doha's lights.
The earth tumbles along its groove.
(Far away, rain falls on a distant sea)
Riding a pleasant vibe
Amid low light & parlor laughter,
I think on this silently.

Far away
Aborigines huddle under Uluru, greet the morning sun
Dark-eyed Hindus offer evening prayers while the river Ganges runs.
In my passage,
Stumbling along a stubborn axis,
Did I forget my name?
Wandering down a long hall,
Knocking on locked doors
A corridor of years.

Return before midnight,
Numb with a gentle oblivion
Thoughts drift in a warm sea
The room gently spins.

Sunday morning,
My rumpled bed.
Wasteland of dress shoes
Scattered across the floor.
Searching and forlorn,
Rimbaud burned out his brains
A relentless vagabond.
I wash my face,
Grind beans for my coffee
Put laundry in.

The earth rumbles on.