I can hardly believe this poem I found today -- it is so like my dream!
As if I didn’t have enough
Bothering me, now I’m confused
By dreaming nightly
Of small airplanes. I don’t understand it.
The planes don’t care that I dream of them:
Now like chickens they peck seed
From my hand. Now like termites
They live in the walls of my house.
Or else they poke me
With their dumb noses: little fish
Move like this to a child’s foot,
Tickling, making their feet laugh.
Sometimes they push and bump each other,
Around my fire, blinded by the light.
They won’t let me read and the noise
of their wings excites me.
They have another trick: they come
To me like children in tears
And sit in my lap,
Crying, Take us in your arms.
You can drive them away, but they’re right back,
Flying out of the polished darkness,
Looking from their eyes like sad dachshunds
As their long bodies float by.
by Bella Akhmadulina (1937--)
(born in Moscow, attended Gorky School of
Literature, later expelled. Married to poet Yevgeny