an on-line poetry magazine
for the 21st century

WINTER 2021-22

 

David B Axelrod

THE MEAT OF MY DREAMS

When I dreamed in cyrillic,

I knew I’d finally settled

in, stretched out on my

bed in the shed I’d

converted to an apartment,

the WC still lined with tools

and toilet paper (тоалетна

хартија). Learning to read

took me me beyond Berlitz.

Tired of asking “What kind

of meat in the market today

(какво месо)?” I drove my

Yugo to a farm. Until you’ve

lived somewhere long enough

to buy a cow, you aren’t at home.