The red book

I asked you not to remind me of Russia
there is a reason for that,

rose lipped doll, fox lined hat, red laquer
nest in brown paper like limbs

lipid with crumbs
of dry cake,

the song they sing
in the summertime

of long haired girls
skinning tomatoes with their teeth

disturbs the cat
atlassed on the kitchen floor,

as the oven grows hotter
on the ashes of the almanac

the girls with clever teeth
arch amber and black.

I asked you not to remind me of Russia
There is a reason for that.
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