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The sea in summer is like a pony

on a pony ride—how much is to ride a circle?

The figs are Turkish. The tea is Indian.

The sherry is white, the onions are purple.

And at sunset all saddles are gray.

Clop-clop, pay for another circle.

The sea in summer is like the desk clerk in a hotel

who hands you a bill.

It’s like a sauna or a pub,

or a photo I’m in Paris.

The sea in summer is an empty package,

empty since time immemorial.

And only in winter it’s good in Miskhor.

The wind. The howl. The purity. The current.

You’re standing still. The sea takes you.

You’re standing still. The sea calms down.

You’re standing still. The sea exists.

And no one owes you anything.

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Evgenia Jen Baranova is an author from Russia. Her most recent poems have appeared Poetry Northwest, Persephone's Daughters, The Raw Art Review.

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